


Coming Into His Own

by LuluMarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dumbledore's plans get messed up, Fred and George are awesome, Gen, HARRY POTTER IS NOT A PUPPET!, Harry gets to do what he wants, Harry is the Heir to the House of Peverell, I seriously love those two, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom is a Good Friend, Original Character(s), Ron Weasley is not a good friend, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuluMarie/pseuds/LuluMarie
Summary: A person shows up in Little Whinging, Surrey, and takes Harry Potter away from his relatives and to a safe place. There, secrets are revealed to him and what he thought to be true turns out to be lies. Armed with new knowledge and with someone who will support him from the background, Harry changes his outlook on his life and takes everyone by surprise. Manipulative!Albus Dumbledore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any Harry Potter characters besides some OC ones that may or may not pop up. I also DO NOT own any story plots that are canon. I do, however, own the things that ARE NOT canon.

Ever since the summer started, it’s been like the county of Surrey was in a microwave. The heat was intense, with most people preferring to stay indoors with their air conditioning on full blast. Going outside was like taking a walk in the desert. However, everyone got a break from the intense heat one particular day. The wind was blowing and provided a cooling salve to the sweating and blistering skin of anybody who was outside. In fact, the wind was blowing so hard that day that some people could hardly believe they were wishing for winter the day before. 

However, there was one person out and about, who didn’t really give a damn about the weather, whether it was still the intense heat of the last couple of weeks, or the blessing of the coolness of that day. You’d find him in the village of Little Whinging, a couple of blocks from the street of Privet Drive, sitting on a swing set in a park. 

He was barely even swinging, in fact, his feet haven’t left the ground at all. He was just staring off into the distance, not really seeing anything. He was leaning his head against one of the chains of the swing, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

Even though it was quite nice outside, Harry Potter’s mood would fit more with storm clouds, thunder and lightning, and freezing rain. He had slight shadows under his eyes, the normally bright green of his irises was dimmed behind his glasses, and his skin was paler than usual.

Harry glumly pushed his feet against the ground, moving the swing a little as he moved his eyes to stare at the ground. It’s been three weeks since he left Hogwarts. Three weeks since he got off the train and exited the King Cross station. It’s been three weeks since Uncle Vernon took him ‘home’. And in those three weeks, Harry has not heard a word from his friends.

He understands if the twins can’t write to him. He did, after all, give them his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament so they can make plans for their joke shop, and they were probably really busy with everything, especially if they’re doing it with the intention of keeping it from their parents - more specifically, their mother.

But Ron and Hermione? And even Ginny? And Sirius or even Remus? Not a word. Not a peep from any of them. After everything, he had just been through? Having Cedric murdered right in front of his eyes, having his arm cut into for access to his blood, which was used in a ritual to bring Voldemort back. Having the Imperius Curse cast upon him, along with the Cruciatus Curse. Twice. 

Having to be humiliated in front of Voldemort’s Death Eaters and then to duel Voldemort himself. And to top it all off, he saw the specters of his parents, if only for a moment. 

Harry felt his body shudder slightly and an icy chill go down his back as he thought back on the incident that constantly gave him nightmares. The green light from the Avada Kedavra, the jeers of the Death Eaters, Pettigrew’s scream as he cut off his own hand…

Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments to get his breathing under control before he opened them again with a sigh. 

He thought back to Fudge’s reaction to his announcement of Voldemort’s return. The man had steadfastly refused to even believe the possibility of him being back. Instead, he believed Rita Skeeter’s articles about him being a crazy attention-seeking brat. Before he even left Hogwarts, he saw that The Daily Prophet didn’t report anything on Cedric’s death. With no contact with the wizarding world and his friends refusing to write to him, Harry has no idea if anything has changed with how things are going. 

‘Is Dumbledore still trying to convince people?’ Harry wondered. ‘Does anyone believe us? Is Voldemort only attacking magical communities? Is he even attacking at all? Are people arming themselves against him?’

All these questions swimming around in his head and he had no answers. He was so desperate for any news regarding Voldemort and his Death Eaters that he had taken to watching the news to see if anything unusual was going on. But nothing ever came up. And him always watching television all the time earned him irritated and confused - but mostly irritated - looks and comments from the Dursleys. 

They don’t make him do any more chores because of Harry’s comments about Sirius, his prison-escaped ‘deranged’ and concerned godfather, but they still gripe and groan about him and insult him every chance they get. Harry escapes them by wandering around outside, weather be damned. But the heat of the last few weeks has been enough to keep Dudley and his gang from hunting him down, so there’s a positive side to that. 

Harry looked up and noticed the sun was starting to go down. He sighed and got off the swing, making his way back to the house. He didn’t feel like getting a tongue lashing from his aunt because he was late and how she didn’t want to waste time looking for him or his uncle’s not-so-subtle remarks about his intelligence if he couldn’t even know the time or Dudley’s taunts about being lectured by his parents. 

His patience has been rather thin this summer so he’d rather not snap and fling a spell at his so-called relatives. They’re not worth Azkaban. 

He couldn’t even pass the time by doing his summer homework or rereading his Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, or even Potions books. His uncle locked his trunk and his Firebolt in the cupboard under the stairs, incidentally, the place he used to sleep in. 

Harry had tried writing to his friends but Hedwig had always come back with his letters unopened so he gave up on it. When his letters first came back, he had a brief bout of panic at the thought of Voldemort having them, but then dismissed the idea. If something had happened to them, Harry was certain that someone would let him know. 

Shaking away his thoughts, Harry continued walking back to the house. 

He was unaware of the sad and understanding eyes that followed him. 

(oooOOOooo)

Harry entered the house, the cool from outside replaced with the stale stuffiness of the inside, and made his way into the kitchen. Uncle Vernon wasn’t home yet and Dudley must’ve still been at the Arcade with his friend Piers. 

“Oh, there you are,” Petunia’s voice sounded from behind him. “It’s almost sundown. Be more attentive to the time, I’d hate to waste my valuable hours looking for you.”

Harry ignored her, opening the fridge to grab bottled water before turning around to head to his room. 

“Boy!” Petunia stepped in front of him, preventing his escape to his ‘sanctuary’. “You think we enjoy this? Having to deal with you and your freakishness every summer and the ten years before you went to that stupid school? We put food in your stomach and clothes on your back! The least you can do is show some respect when I am talking to you!”

Harry barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

He pushed past her before she can open her mouth again. He bounded up the stairs as quickly as he could and reached his room, closing the door behind him with a sigh. 

He scoffed to himself. ‘Put food in your stomach and clothes on your back?’ He repeated to himself. 

The only food he ate was what they didn’t eat, and the clothes he had are what Dudley couldn’t fit anymore. And considering he’s as big as a baby whale, his clothes always dwarfed his body. He has to roll up the sleeves many times as well as the pant legs. 

Harry walked over to Hedwig’s cage. She wasn’t locked in anymore but she still rests in there when she’s tired. His beautiful snowy white owl was his most faithful companion and his dearest friend. He told her his secrets, ranted and raved when he was angry, and even cried when he was overwhelmed. And she was always there, nipping at his fingers, cuddling close to him when he needs it, and even cuffs his head with her wing when he says something stupid. She’s a very intelligent owl. 

“Hey girl,” he said softly, reaching his hand out to rub her head. She gazed at him with her wise amber eyes and hooted at him. 

“I hope your day was better than mine,” he said, his hand still petting her head. “It wasn’t too hot out; hopefully you were able to get some fresh air.”

She hooted again. 

Harry sighed. “I can’t believe Ron and Hermione aren’t talking to me. It’s like summer before second year all over again; at least then it was because of Dobby, but I doubt he’s doing this again. And what about Sirius? Why is he ignoring me?”

Hedwig hooted once more and nipped at his fingers affectionately. A smile crossed his face unbiddenly. It went away quickly when he heard the door slam open and close downstairs and his uncle’s and cousin’s voices drift upstairs. 

“I wish we didn’t have to stay here,” he said sorrowfully, withdrawing his hand as he did. “You at least deserve to have some freedom. I’m betting just flying in and out of here isn’t enough.”

He sighed again and went to lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He honestly didn’t know how he was going to survive another month with his relatives and with no contact from anybody of the Wizarding World. He wished he could have stayed at Hogwarts for the summers. With its moving staircases, talking portraits, interesting and sometimes scary specters, the Black Lake, and the green lands surrounding the castle. He especially missed his four-poster bed in his dorm room, especially when he’s laying on the uncomfortable mattress in his room at his relatives’ house. 

With nothing else to do, and not willing to go downstairs for dinner to deal with his relatives, he took off his glasses to go to sleep. With darkness growing outside his window, and his mood plummeting close to depression levels, he drifted off to an unsettled sleep. 

(oooOOOooo)

Outside and across the street from Number 4, Privet Drive stood a man. The few people who were outside didn’t notice him, even though they had to step around him on the sidewalk. He was staring intently at the house in front of him, his eyes glinting calculatingly. His fists were clenched and he was biting his lip, a habit he’d been unable to get rid of. 

After a moment of eyeing the house searchingly, he nodded his head once, his once stiff posture relaxing slightly. 

He turned on his heel and disappeared as silently as he came, with no sign that he’d ever been there in the first place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any Harry Potter characters besides some OC ones that may or may not pop up. I also DO NOT own any story plots that are canon. I do, however, own the things that ARE NOT canon.

Harry sighed. Today turned out to be another hot one, but he’d rather be outside than cooped up in his room, listening to Petunia’s snide remarks, or Dudley and his friends playing video games in Dudley’s room. 

He went back to the park and sat on the same swing as he did the day before. Only this time, he actually started to swing, hoping that if he picks up enough speed he’ll get cooled off by the breeze. 

The bags under his eyes were more pronounced, having been kept awake most of the night by nightmares. Hedwig comforted him as much as she could, but even she couldn’t completely chase away the horrific scenes he saw every time he closed his eyes. 

When he finally woke up for real, he immediately rushed to the bathroom to take a shower and rinse all the sweat off of him. He skipped breakfast altogether. 

Harry closed his eyes as he swung on the swing, trying to imagine that he was somewhere else. The wind ruffling his hair helped him imagine that he was flying on his Firebolt, up with the clouds and the birds, free from anything and everything that always ends up blocking him one way or another. He flashed back to the first time he played for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was the only one on either team to have a top-of-the-line broom and he was the fastest there was. Despite having to wear glasses, his eyesight was excellent and he pinpointed the snitch pretty quickly but was thwarted by an opposing player. But even after that, and after having his broom cursed by Quirellemort, his first game as a seeker was one of his most treasured memories. 

He doesn’t know how long he swings with his eyes closed, but they snap open when he hears the sound of voices. He stops pumping his feet and glanced around, catching sight of a family of five at the park. A mother and father, a young boy and girl, and a baby cradled in the mother’s arms. 

Every time Harry sees a scene like the one before him, he gets a tight feeling in his chest. More than anything, he wants someone to care about him the way a parent should. Mrs. Weasley is a great mother-figure, but her first priority is always going to be her family and her children. If she had the choice to save him or Ron, Harry is certain that she’d pick Ron. Now that isn’t to say that she’d immediately sell Harry out, but when it comes down to it, she’s going to protect her family first and foremost. 

Remus seemed to care that one year he was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but Harry doesn’t talk with him much. Sirius had shown to care a great deal about him as well, but he seems to be extremely reckless, not at all like a parent figure should be. It’s like their roles are reversed and Harry is the responsible and sensible one, whereas Sirius has the attitude of a child. 

Dumbledore...Harry doesn’t know how to feel about Dumbledore. He seems to be the one person that always believes in him and urges him to do the right thing, but there always seems to be something more going on with him. 

Professor McGonagall, his head of House, is a nice and caring person, but she has all of Gryffindor to take care of. Harry, for once, would like to be someone’s priority, the person that someone put first and foremost. He’d like to be someone’s reason for smiling because he got good grades, or have them throw a birthday party for him because they’re proud of everything he’s done so far. He’d love, more than anything, to be someone’s reason for waking up in the morning. 

He was still staring towards the happy family, the feeling in his chest starting to amplify when a strange thing happened. 

He didn’t notice that he had stopped moving on the swing, but it was brought to his attention when a bird landed on his thigh. It was light brown and white and could easily fit in the palm of his hand. Harry stared at it in shock. He was pretty sure random birds don’t fly up to you, let alone land on you. 

The bird stared up at him, it’s eyes looking directly into his before it blinked and flew away to a tree on the other side of the park. It seemed to look back at him before it chirped loudly. Harry stared after it, a weird feeling creeping over him. Without even realizing it, he had stood up and made his way across the park towards it. When he got closer, it flew away again to a tree even further away and still, Harry followed it. This went on for another five minutes, Harry following the bird as it flew from tree to tree and deeper into the wooded area behind the park until finally, the bird flew behind a wide tree. Harry walked behind as well and came to a surprise. 

It was a small clearing, maybe roughly the size of a small baseball field, but standing in the middle of the field was a man. Harry couldn’t see his face clearly since the man was wearing wide sunglasses and a cap on his head, but he was wearing simple muggle clothing, a black t-shirt and muggle jogging pants. The bird Harry was chasing was nowhere to be seen. 

“Uh, hello,” Harry said politely, trying to fight the urge to whip his wand out of his pocket and point it at the stranger. 

The man stared at him in silence, an awkward air descending on the duo as they studied one another. At first, Harry wasn’t sure if he would say something back but then he opened up his mouth. “I don't know whether to be happy or upset that you fell for that,” he finally said, his voice smooth and slightly deep. 

Harry was instantly suspicious. “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said, trying to keep his tone polite. 

“Oh, but I think you do,” the man said, his tone now amused. “You followed a bird here, did you not?”

“So?” Harry said defensively, sweat starting to form on his brow. 

The man’s lips pulled into a slight smirk that Harry couldn’t see. “I thought that with Voldemort finally back and his Death Eaters knowing that you know their identities, you’d be more careful.”

Harry gaped at him in shock. 'Voldemort? Death Eaters? This guy must be a wizard!' Harry thought. He quickly whipped out his wand and pointed it at him, his face angry and slightly scared. “Who are you?” he demanded harshly. 

The man chuckled. “I suggest you put that wand down Harry,” he said. “You might hurt someone.”

“Who are you?” he repeated. “And how do you know my name?”

“Mate, everyone knows who you are,” the man said. “You’re the bloody ‘Boy-Who-Lived’.”

Harry scowled. “Okay, fine. But who are you? What is your name?”

“I’m someone you know well,” he said cryptically. “Extremely well, in fact.”

“You’re mad,” Harry exclaimed after a moment. “I don’t know who the bloody hell you are! Do you really think I’d fall for the ‘we’re old friends’ trick? Stop with the games and tell me who you are, and what you’re doing here!”

Again, the man didn’t say anything. Harry couldn’t tell what he was thinking since his face was mostly covered, but his body stance was relaxed. He doesn’t even seem to be bothered by the fact that Harry has his wand out and pointing it at him. Harry grit his teeth and prepared to fire off a spell when the man opened his mouth again. 

“After Petunia found you on the doorsteps the morning after Dumbledore left you there, she and your Uncle Vernon forced you to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs.”

Harry froze. How did this man know that? He never told anyone that, not even Ron and Hermione. “How do you know that?” he asked hoarsely. 

He didn’t answer the question. 

“How do you know that?” Harry asked again, this time a panicked tone in his voice. He gripped his wand tighter in his hand. 

The man ignored his question once again. “In your second year, you were so sick of everyone treating you like the next dark lord after they found out you were a Parselmouth, that you were secretly hoping that Slytherin’s monster would petrify you as well, just to get away from it all and then people would see that it wasn’t you.”

Harry swallowed thickly. How did this man know that? He never told anyone about how he felt. About how he wanted to escape the terrified looks and the narrowed eyes and the mutters so badly that he didn’t even care if Slytherin’s monster got to him. About how he felt ashamed of feeling that way when he found out that Hermione became petrified. And how he loathed almost the entire school when they went back to ‘praising’ their boy-who-lived without so much as a ‘sorry’ when the truth came out. 

“In your third year,” the man said, his voice softer now, “when you first felt a dementor’s presence, on the train, they brought forth the memory of your mother screaming.”

The hand clutching Harry’s wand was sweaty, but he kept a white-knuckled grip on it. Harry didn’t notice that his hand was shaking or that it was lowering slightly, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him. 

“And at the end of your fourth year,” he said, his voice so low that Harry almost didn’t hear it, “after seeing Cedric killed, being tied to a tombstone, having your blood taken from you to resurrect Voldemort, enduring two of the three Unforgivable Curses, and then finally dueling Voldemort himself, you wished that it was you who had been killed instead of Cedric.”

Harry gasped. His hand loosened on his wand and his arm fell limply to his side. He took a step back from the man, his face pale and his eyes filled with shock. “Who are you,” he asked again, his voice shaky. “How do you know so much about me? I never told anybody any of those things.”

And he hadn’t. After going through everything in that graveyard, the Minister not believing a word he says, and the beginning of even more stares and whispers after Dumbledore announced Voldemort’s return, Harry just became tired. More than once, he thought about how easy it would’ve been if he was the one that took Pettigrew’s killing curse. At least he would’ve been with his parents. 

The man started to walk forward, his gait steady and relaxed. Harry took a few uncertain steps backward at the action, which ended with him stumbling over his own feet and landing on his arse. The stranger never faltered in his steps and kept moving forward towards Harry until he was standing over him. Harry didn't raise his wand at him, merely eyed him warily and suspiciously. 

“You asked me who I am,” he stated calmly. He reached up and pulled the cap off his head, revealing black hair that reached the top of his shoulders with a fringe covering his forehead. “Well, I would think it was obvious about who I am, especially with what I know.” He took off the sunglasses next, letting them fall to the ground. 

Harry gasped as he stared into the man’s brilliant green eyes as he smiled down at him. “I am you.”

(oooOOOooo)

It is not uncommon to think about the passage of time. Many people, whether they were muggles or witches and wizards, thought about traversing time at least once in their life. To go back in time to fix something they so desperately wished to change, to experience a once in a lifetime experience that will never come again, to save someone they had lost earlier in their life. Or even go forward in time to see the outcome of something important, to see something you won’t have a chance to because you’re dying, to see how their children will turn out, and even fix something you couldn’t by going backward in time. 

For muggles, time travel is an impossible dream, wishful thinking that will drive you mad if thought about for too long. Knowing that you can’t change anything, but wishing more than anything that you can, will drive even the most strong-willed muggle to their knees in despair if dwelled on for too long. 

For witches and wizards, time travel isn’t impossible, but the only means of which to do so can only take you back a couple of hours. You cannot go back years like a lot of people wish to do, never mind going forward. Traveling backward through time isn’t an impossible concept to witches and wizards, but to travel years into the past? Never heard of in recorded history. 

Maybe that’s why Harry Potter was staring at the man in front of him with an incredulous look on his face and wide eyes. “W-What? Are you crazy? You can’t be me, I’m me!”

“You are you, and so am I,” he said. He crouched down so they were eye level with each other, green eyes looking at green eyes. “Why can’t you believe I’m you?”

“Because it’s impossible!” Harry exclaimed. “I’m Harry Potter! And I’m only fourteen, turning fifteen in a couple of weeks! You’re...you’re-”

“Twenty-four, turning twenty-five in a couple of weeks,” the man claiming to be Harry Potter answered wryly. 

“Whatever! You can’t be me! It’s impossible!”

“Calm down and think,” the man said, never losing his calm tone. “Just for a moment, think of a way I can be you, but older.”

For a moment, Harry wanted to refuse. He wanted to get up and bolt out of there, back to his relatives and owl Dumbledore. Or even call the police. But something told him to pause and listen. Something told him to do as the man said; so he did. He tried to even out his breathing that he hadn’t noticed was speeding up, tried to block everything else out but his thoughts, and tried to think. 

The man stared at Harry as realization started showing in his eyes. “Time travel?” Harry asked hoarsely. “But that can’t be right either! The only way to travel in time is with time turners and they only take people back hours, not years!”

“Then explained to me how I know things only you know,” the man stated calmly. “How do I know things that you haven’t told anyone else? How do I know the exact feelings you’ve felt over the years? And if I’m not you,” he started moving the hair away from his forehead, “how do I have this?”

Harry gaped at what he saw. On the man’s forehead was a silver scar, the same shape as Harry’s own, and in the exact same place. It looked slightly different than Harry’s, not as vivid as the one on his own forehead, but there was no mistaking it. Harry saw it every day when he looked in the mirror. As much as he wanted to deny it, there was too much evidence pointing to the truth. 

“So...you really are me,” Harry said quietly, as he stared into the man’s eyes. 'My own eyes', he corrected mentally. 

“Yes,” he said, a smile appearing on his face. “I am pleased that you believe me.”

“How did you come back here?” Harry asked in awe. “Why did you come back anyway?”

Older-Harry glanced around. “Not here,” he said seriously. “Listen to me, Harry. You need to make a choice-”

“A choice?” Harry asked in confusion. 

“Yes,” he said with a nod, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “You’ve been lied to and deceived by someone you trust.”

Harry gasped. “What?” Hurt crossed his features. “Who? Who lied to me? And why did they lie? What did they lie about?”

“We can’t discuss that here,” Older-Harry shook his head. “You never know who’s listening. But you need to make a choice. Here or with me.”

“What?”

“I can take you away from here,” he said. Harry’s eyes widened in shock. “I can take you to come live with me, but only if you’d like to. But you can stay here if you’d like.”

“You can get me out of here?” Harry asked, elation filling him at the thought of getting out of this place. 

“You must understand this,” Older-Harry said seriously, causing Harry to focus on him intently. “If you come with me, everything you know will change. Things you thought were true will turn out to be false. And some people you thought you trusted, will turn out to have hidden agendas.”

Older-Harry stood up and held out a hand. “Are you coming with me, or are you staying with the Dursleys?”

Harry didn’t even hesitate. He reached up and clasped the older man’s hand, letting him haul him off the ground. 

“I’m coming with you.”

(oooOOOooo)

Dumbledore sat in his office at Hogwarts, his hands clasped under his chin as he thought about his plans. 

Fudge was still being an idiot about Voldemort’s return, refusing to even consider the possibility of him being back. He even had The Daily Prophet hide the fact that Cedric Diggory was dead. 

“No matter, no matter,” Dumbledore muttered to himself. “Not all is at a standstill.”

With Fudge believing him and young Mr. Potter to be liars, his focus will be on discrediting him and making the boy’s life unbearable. Dumbledore will be able to recall members of his group, The Order of The Phoenix, to work against Voldemort. And speaking of Mr. Potter…

Dumbledore smiled slightly. He had told Sirius, Remus, the Weasleys, and Ms. Granger to refrain from contacting Mr. Potter. While he told them that it was because he was afraid of Death Eaters finding out where he lived - and that was a valid fear - he wanted young Harry to become mad and irrational and to feel betrayed. His friend Dodge at the ministry had overheard a woman called Umbridge muttering at her desk. It seems as if she plans to send a dementor after him to ‘shut him up’. However, this plan of hers will coincide with Dumbledore’s intentions with Harry. 

“Since young Harry will obviously use his magic to defend himself, it would be his second offense of magic outside of school,” Dumbledore said aloud. “He will be called in by the ministry for a meeting and, knowing how Fudge operates, he’ll want to persecute him with anything he can find. He might even use the whole Wizengamot to intimidate the boy. But no matter; Arabella will keep an eye on him and can be called upon as a witness. And of course, I’ll appear in time to save Mr. Potter from persecution and he’ll be grateful to me, ensuring more loyalty.”

Dumbledore smiled again, his eyes twinkling madly as he sat back in his chair. The portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses inside the office were staring at him in shock, horror, revulsion, fear, and everything between. They noticed the Headmaster had seemed off ever since the night Lily and James Potter were killed by You-Know-Who, but this was too much. His manipulations of Harry Potter have gone on for too long. Unfortunately, a spell was placed on their portraits by Dumbledore when he first took the mantle of Headmaster that didn't allow them to speak about what has been discussed inside the office. 

One of them, Phineas Nigellus Black, was staring at Dumbledore with hatred clearly displayed on his face. He didn't know how the man got into Gryffindor, he was too manipulative for the House of Lions. He hated how Dumbledore was playing the world like a chessboard, hiding who he really was under that grandfatherly façade, and lying about his intentions. 

For the first time in his life, he was feeling remorse for a Gryffindor. He prayed to Merlin that this Harry Potter won’t fall for the old man’s tricks and see him for who he really is. But seeing how everyone was fooled by him, even the Death Eaters hiding in plain sight, what chance did a fifteen-year-old boy have?

Another headmaster in a different portrait, the one containing Armando Dippet, shook his head in sadness and grief. It was he who appointed Albus to be his successor when he decided to retire. He didn’t realize who the man truly was until the deaths of the Potters and the subsequent claiming of their orphaned son to be known as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Ever since that night happened and he witnessed every time the old man schemed in his chair, he despaired inside. He couldn’t believe he was fooled by this man who was once a close friend and colleague. The way he manipulated people as if they were nothing more than pawns, the way he treated people like family before talking badly about them behind their backs, made promises he didn't intend to keep and fooling everyone around him, sometimes even himself. He saw how Albus always talked about the ‘Greater Good’ and what must be done, but still showed no remorse for his actions. In some ways, Albus Dumbledore was just as bad as the Dark Lord Voldemort himself. 

Fawkes the Phoenix stared at Dumbledore, sadness and fury warring inside the beautiful creature. When he first had met Albus, he thought he was a kind man and a person who strived to help others. How thoroughly wrong he was. When he bonded with the man and became his familiar, he became exposed to his true nature and manipulations. He immediately wanted to break the bond but it was too late; he was already tied to the man. The only way to break the bond now is if someone of pure intentions tried to bond with him or if Dumbledore died. Everyone was fooled by the old man, so no one from the ‘light side’ tried to bond with the Phoenix, and anybody else who wants to try will have evil intentions, their souls tainted by greed, anger, or selfishness. 

And Dumbledore isn’t someone who is easily killed, the only one with the power to do so is Voldemort. But if he was the one to get rid of Albus, then there would be an even bigger threat against the young ones of Hogwarts. They are just children, and shouldn’t pay for the sins of its Headmaster. For now, all he could do was watch in sorrow as Dumbledore schemed and plotted, with young Harry Potter right in the middle of things. 

(oooOOOooo)

Sirius Black walked up to the attic where Buckbeak was kept. He wanted to be alone for a while, tired of the nagging from Molly Weasley and her reminders about his current state of imprisonment. He entered the room, throwing a chicken leg at Buckbeak as he did. 

“Hey Buckbeak,” he said softly, a small smile making his way into his face as he stared at the creature. At first glance, the animal with front legs and wings and head of an eagle, and the body, hind legs, and tail of a horse, would seem pretty intimidating and scary. But Buckbeak turned out to be a very loyal creature and was very kind and gentle to those he considered his allies. 

Sirius leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, his head in his hands as he let out a sigh. He hated this. He hated being cooped up inside his insufferable family’s house, with the portrait of his mother always screaming her head off about Blood traitors and Mudbloods. It was like being in another prison, just without the dementors. More than anything, he wished his godson was here. He wanted to spend time with him, plan pranks with him, laugh with him, and do all the things they missed out on. But Dumbledore said that they couldn’t contact him. He was afraid that the owls would attract the attention of the Death Eaters and they’d know where he lived. He had asked him why Harry couldn’t come stay with him in Grimmauld Place since, after all, the Weasleys and Hermione were staying there as well. All he got from Dumbledore was ‘Harry needs to live where his mother’s blood dwells. As long as he can call that place home, he is protected from Voldemort and his followers. The blood wards are the only protection he has, my boy.’

Sirius sighed again. He didn’t like it, but Dumbledore knew what was best to protect Harry. He’s been doing it longer than he had after all, ever since that fateful Halloween night. He guessed that he’ll have to wait a while before he can see James’s and Lily’s son again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any Harry Potter characters besides some OC ones that may or may not pop up. I also DO NOT own any story plots that are canon. I do, however, own things that ARE NOT canon.

“Come on, we must hurry,” Older-Harry said as he glanced around. 

“Why?” Harry asked, unable to hide how eager he was. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”

“I can’t explain everything right now,” he said, glancing around once more. “We need to go, now.”

“Wait! What about my things? What about Hedwig? And-”

“We’re going to go get your things and Hedwig,” Older-Harry said. “Let’s go. Act natural, like nothing’s wrong.”

Harry nodded and hurried to keep step with him, stowing his wand back inside his pocket. They passed the park and made their way towards Number 4 Privet Drive. 

“What should I call you?” Harry eventually asked. “I keep calling you ‘Older-me’ inside my head.”

The older man snorted, a grin appearing on his lips for a brief moment. “Officially, I am named Hunter. Hunter Isaac Peverell.”

“Officially?” Harry asked. “And why Peverell? Are you impersonating someone?”

“I know you have questions Harry,” Hunter said, “but they’ll have to wait until I get you out of here. As soon as we’re settled in my home, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

Harry stared at him a moment, reading the expression in his eyes and looking at his body language. After a moment, he nodded. “Alright.”

“Okay, I need you to listen,” Hunter said as they approached the end of the street. “This is what's going to happen. You’re going to walk into the house and tell Petunia that someone from the magical world has become your guardian and that she and Vernon don’t have to look after you anymore. She’ll be so happy to know you’re leaving that I know, without a doubt, that she will unlock the cupboard for you to get your stuff. Grab your trunk, your Firebolt, Hedwig and her cage, and then come back here. There’s no need for you to get clothes. Do you understand?”

Harry wanted to ask why it was so important that Aunt Petunia not know who he is, but hearing his urgent tone and seeing how he kept glancing around, he refrained from asking and instead nodded solemnly. “What about you? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stay here and wait for you,” he answered. “I can’t be seen by someone.”

Harry was about to ask who that someone was and why they can’t see him, but then remembered Hunter’s promise to tell him everything later, so he closed his mouth and merely nodded again. 

“Alright, go, and be quick,” Hunter urged. “And when you’re talking to Petunia, do not mention my name, alright?”

With a nod and an ‘Okay’, Harry turned and quickly, but not overly so, made his way back to the house, thoughts bouncing around in his head like a bludger around a Quidditch pitch. Why did Hunter come back? How did he come back? What is it that has him so on edge? Who was the person that he said has him fooled? Who betrayed his trust? 

It was that last question that unsettled him the most. Harry doesn’t trust easily, but the few people he does give his trust to means everything to him. To think that someone he trusts has betrayed him, to think that they casually threw away something he doesn’t give freely, chills him to the bone. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that he arrived in front of Number 4 quicker than he realized. He opened the door and stepped inside, making sure to close the door loudly enough for his aunt to hear. He didn’t feel like looking for her. 

“Boy? Is that you?” her voice came from the living room, her tone biting and vexed. Harry followed it and found his aunt sitting on the couch, a magazine in her hands and a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her. She scowled when she saw him walk in. “Intolerable little brat, why the hell are you back so soon? You normally stay out later than this.”

Harry ignored her acerbic tone and answered, “I got an owl while I was out Aunt Petunia.”

If possible, her scowl deepened further at the mention of an owl. “And?” she snapped, the magazine in her hands starting to crinkle from the force of her tight grip. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, the letter the owl was carrying had a message for me,” he explained, struggling not to let the excited grin appear on his face. “It turns out I have a remaining family member in the wizarding world and they’re going to have me come live with them.”

Petunia lost her scowl and a shocked looked replaced it. “Excuse me?” she gasped out. 

“I have another magical relative,” Harry repeated slowly. “They’re having me move in with them. You and Uncle Vernon don’t have to take care of me anymore.”

Petunia’s eyes went wide with shock, her mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish. A smug smile then overtook her face for a split second before she fought to replace it with a neutral look. Her eyes were still showing her pleasure, however. “I see,” she said carefully. “And when, exactly, are they coming to fetch you?”

“They’re waiting for me right now,” Harry replied, wanting to roll his eyes at his aunt’s bad acting and her obvious eagerness. “As soon as I get my things, I can leave.”

Petunia stood abruptly, setting her magazine aside. “Well then,” she said as she walked towards the kitchen, “the sooner you’re gone the better, I say. No more having to deal with you and the freakishness that comes from your world will be a welcome relief. I’ll unlock the cupboard so you can collect your rubbish, go and fetch that ruddy owl of yours.”

Harry grit his teeth at the way Petunia was describing his most precious things and his familiar but refrained from saying anything. The quicker he gets his things, the sooner Hunter can take him away from here. He turned away and made for the stairs, taking them two at a time and entered his room, making his way towards Hedwig, who was resting on top of her cage. 

“Hey girl,” Harry said with a grin as he approached her. “Guess what? We’re getting out of here.”

Hedwig hooted at him. 

“That’s right,” Harry said. “We’re leaving right now. But you need to go in your cage for now, okay?”

She hooted again, this time managing to sound indignant. 

“It’s just for a little while,” Harry pleaded. “When we get to the place we’re going to, I’ll let you out, I swear.”

Hedwig didn’t make any more sounds but did settle back into her cage. She even managed to look disgruntled, to Harry’s hidden amusement. 

Harry rubbed her head quickly before he shut her cage. Taking one last look around his room of the last four years, he exited out the door without a backward glance. Holding Hedwig’s cage to his side, he made his way carefully towards the top of the stairs, passing by Dudley’s room and ignoring the sounds coming from within. His aunt was waiting for him at the door, his trunk near her feet and his Firebolt sitting on top. “Hurry up, I haven’t got all day,” she barked when she saw him. 

He made his way down, taking his time so as to not jostle Hedwig too much in her cage. “Vernon is still at work,” she said stiffly. “I’ll let him know about your…situation when he returns.”

Harry merely nodding, electing not to say anything. “Here.” She picked up his broom as if it were a stick of dynamite or a muddy shoe, and thrust it at him. Harry took it and tucked it under his arm as she quickly retracted her hand, then grabbed his trunk with the hand not holding Hedwig’s cage. 

Petunia opened the door, seeing as Harry’s hands were full. “Good riddance,” she muttered as he passed her. The door slammed shut as soon as he stepped outside, the lock sliding in place not long after. 

Remembering Hunter’s warning about being quick, Harry wasted no time in hurrying down the sidewalk, dragging his trunk as he went. He tried to keep it off the ground as much as possible since it was making such a racket as it was dragged along the concrete. Strangely enough, there was nobody out and about to notice him dragging a trunk while carrying a broom under his arm and an owl cage in his other hand. Harry was pretty sure he looked ridiculous. Finally, he made it to the place he was with Hunter last. He looked around but saw no sign of the wizard. 

He bent over to set his trunk down and Hedwig’s cage on top of it before he stood back up again - and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Hunter standing right in front of him. “Blimey,” he exclaimed, a hand on his chest. “You totally scared me, mate.”

Hunter smiled briefly as his remark before he became serious again. “Did you do everything I said?” he questioned. 

“Yes,” Harry nodded. 

“Petunia doesn’t know who I am, right?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I didn’t even mention what gender you are.”

“Excellent.” Hunter smiled appreciatively. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key chain. “This is a portkey to my house. Just grab on and we’ll be on our way.”

“Just like that?” Harry asked, his nerves starting to flare up at the thought of everything being a trick. He wasn’t used to good things happening to him, with how his childhood was nobody could blame him. He spent most of his early years being verbally abused by his muggle family, with the occasional backhand or slap. Petunia even hit him once with a frying pan because the bacon he had cooked for breakfast that day wasn’t ‘crispy enough’; it was still hot. Dudley bullied him in school and, because of his gang, nobody tried to befriend him. When he arrived at Hogwarts, he was excited to learn about magic and make some friends, but everyone treated him like some sort of tragic hero when he really wanted to be just a regular student. 

His first year at Hogwarts, he was loved and looked at as a hero, then hated by mostly everyone because he tried to help a friend out and lost house points. In his second year, he was everyone’s beloved hero again, before it got out that he can speak to snakes, and everyone started fearing him and hating him. His third year wasn’t so bad as the other two, but being made fun off because he can hear the deaths of his parents really made his temper explode. And last year, everyone, including Ron, had believed him to be a liar that wanted more fame by entering the Triwizard Tournament. As sad as it was, Harry was used to having the rug pulled out from under his feet, and he was used to everything good that happens to him be lost under all of the bad. 

Hunter smiled, easily reading Harry’s unease and trepidation in his eyes and the twitching of his arms. He reached down and grabbed Hedwig’s cage in his free hand before he looked back at Harry, his own green eyes showing nothing but genuine and earnest intentions. “Just like that,” he said softly. 

Harry stared into his eyes, the ones so like his, but still so different. He saw the sincerity in the gaze leveled at him and felt his lips lift into a smile. “Okay,” he said. 

With his Firebolt under his arm and his trunk in his hand, he reached out and grabbed ahold of the keychain in Hunter’s hand. 

They both disappeared without a sound, no sign that they were ever there in the first place. 

Elsewhere, in a castle located in the Highlands, an old man felt a shiver of foreboding go down his spine. 

(oooOOOooo)

Harry landed on his feet with a jarring thud, his eyes shut tight. A groan left his lips as a slight nauseating feeling crept into his stomach. 

The first time he had used a portkey was when he, Hermione, and the Weasleys went to the Quidditch World Cup the summer before his fourth year. He hated how it made him feel, regardless of how quickly it got them there. But then, the last time he had used a portkey, was when the fake Moody enchanted the Triwizard Cup to take him to Voldemort. 

That had put him off of Portkeys. If it was absolutely necessary to use one, like Hunter did to get them away from Little Whinging, he’d grit his teeth and bear it. But if he had a choice, he’d rather ride his broom, even if it’ll take longer. Since he can’t apparate yet, those two, along with the floo, were his only means of transportation. 

When his nausea subsided a little, he opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. And immediately, he sucked in a startled breath and felt his eyes widen at what was in front of him. 

“Welcome,” Hunter said, a smile in his voice, “to Peverell Cottage.”

When the word ‘cottage’ is mentioned, for some reason, a picture of a small, slightly rundown house with only one floor and by a body of water pops into Harry’s mind. But that is in no way close to describing Peverell Cottage. For one thing, it wasn’t rundown; in fact, its appearance made it seem as if it were built only a few weeks ago. It was two stories high and it was wide as the Great Hall of Hogwarts was long, maybe slightly less. And that’s just how wide it is, he has no idea how big the rest of the house is. 

He and Hunter were standing on a brick pathway that led to the front door of the house that also led around and to the back of it. The house and its front and (presumably) back lawn were surrounded by tall hedges with a gate in the front, giving off a sense of privacy. Tall trees were surrounding the property beyond the hedges, indicating they were in a forest. The trees themselves weren’t close enough to be crowding, giving the place a more secluded feel, but not as suffocating or intimidating as the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. 

Peverell Cottage wasn’t as grand as a manor, but that’s what made it seem more charming and inviting. It wasn’t outstanding in its splendor, it was more subtle with its presence. You had to really look, not just cast a casual glance at it. The dark-colored bricks it was made of stood out against the green grass it was situated on, and the rays of sunlight that managed to get through the trees shone upon the building, making it seem as if it had a golden glint to it. 

As Harry observed his surroundings, some of the tension that still lingered in his body from the start of summer leaked out, making him feel light and carefree. It was just settling in that he was free from the Dursleys. No more muttered insults from his aunt and uncle, no more hiding from Dudley and his gang, no more unfulfilling food, no more feelings of entrapment, no more of any of it. 

He was free. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hoot from Hedwig. He turned around and saw Hunter putting her cage down on the ground and bent to open its door. She immediately flew out, her wings spreading to their full length, and landed on Harry’s shoulder. 

He laughed as she nipped at his ear softly. “I told you you’d be let out, didn’t I?” he said to her, an affectionate smile on his face. 

Hedwig didn’t make another sound, merely nipped at his ear again. Harry let out another laugh and turned to look at Hunter. He was looking at them with a small smile, an emotion in his eyes that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

“Come on,” he said. “You haven’t been inside yet.”

Harry nodded. “Okay.” He looked up at Hedwig. “Go on and explore girl, just make sure your back later.”

Hedwig hooted again, and flew off his shoulder, only to land on Hunter’s. She nipped at his ear like she did Harry before she flew off into the trees. Hunter watched her go, the smile from earlier crossing his face again. Watching how Hunter looked towards Hedwig, with small smiles and emotion in his eyes, Harry came to a depressing realization. “She’s gone in your time, isn’t she?” he asked softly. 

Hunter turned his head to look back at Harry, the smile gone from his face. He didn't answer, but Harry understood what he didn’t say. 

“Let’s go,” he said, picking up Hedwig’s empty cage. Harry followed after him, his trunk in one hand and his Firebolt in the other. 

Hunter opened the door and led Harry inside. As he stepped into the house, Harry gazed around in awe. While the outside of the house gave off an ethereal feel, the inside was simply cozy. The furniture was chosen with an eye for comfort instead of looks, and the few windows that aligned the walls allowed for the house to feel spacious, as the light from the lingering sun filtered through. A large fireplace sat against the far wall. 

“This is the living room,” Hunter explained. “Through the archway on the right is the sitting room, and the doorways on either side of the fireplace lead to the kitchen.”

“It all looks really cozy,” Harry admitted. 

Hunter quirked his lips in a grin. “Thanks, I thought so too.”

He then led him to some stairs off to the side that Harry hadn’t notice. “The second floor is where the bedrooms and bathroom are located,” he explained as they climbed the stairs. “There are five bedrooms. Pick any of them you like, but the one on the far end is mine. I’ll be downstairs when you’re done settling in.”

Harry nodded wordlessly, staring at the doors lining the hallway. He was startled when he felt a hand land on his shoulder and flicked his eyes over to see Hunter staring at him. “I know all of this must seem overwhelming,” he said to him. “But you’re handling everything really well. Just…try not to overthink things you don’t know yet, okay? I’ll explain everything I can later.”

Harry couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. Hunter was right, everything really was overwhelming. Things were changing and it was happening faster than he expected. But Hunter had gotten him away from the Dursleys and seems to be doing everything he can to help him. And really, that’s all he’s ever wanted. “It’s okay,” he told him honestly. “I can handle it.”

“I’ve no doubt about that,” Hunter said wryly. ”I used to be you, after all.”

He reached up to ruffle Harry’s hair slightly, causing the teen to protest a little at making it messier than it already was before he turned around and went back downstairs. 

(oooOOOooo)

Far away from Peverell Cottage sat another impressive home. But unlike Peverell Cottage, this home is ostentatious with its beauty, and practically screams, ‘look at me!’. Its name is Malfoy Manor, home to the Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and their son Draco, along with their House-Elves. However, ever since the end of the Triwizard Tournament that took place at Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor has gained another house guest. That day, you’d find this person pacing thoughtfully in front of the fireplace in the large living room, his inhuman face set into a scowl, his ruby red eyes narrowed, and his thoughts miles away. This man is known by a few names by many people. One of them is ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and another one is ‘You-Know-Who’. The man is fine with most of the wizarding world calling him that, it means they fear him, as he thought they should. 

Another name he is known by is Lord Voldemort. That is what he wishes to be called, what should be uttered when people speak about him in hushed whispers or with awe in their voices. His followers, his loyal Death Eaters, simply call him ‘My Lord’. And he is fine with that as well because he is their lord. He is the Dark Lord Voldemort, heir of Salazar Slytherin.

However, there is another name that he is known by, but only a few people know about it. Actually, he could count the number of people who know the name on one hand. It is the name his weak pure-blood mother gave him, the name of his muggle father. And he hates it with a passion. The name he used to have, Tom Marvolo Riddle, reminds him that he isn’t a pure-blood, despite the fact that he’s Slytherin’s heir. He despises muggles and everything they stand for, and to have his father be a muggle, to carry his name for eighteen years despite Slytherin’s blood running through him, makes him rage. 

But despite all of that, right now, Voldemort was thinking about a certain boy who always seems to mess up his plans, ever since the brat was a first year at Hogwarts. Harry bloody Potter, along with his mudblood and blood-traitor friends. Potter wasn’t supposed to survive the graveyard, wasn’t supposed to make it back to Hogwarts and warn that blasted headmaster. Voldemort fully intended to kill Potter as soon as he got his body back, but he supposes that he had too much fun tormented the boy.

But despite the fact that he got away, no one at the ministry seems to believe him or the old fool. In fact, they’re slandering both of their reputations in the Daily Prophet. Their precious Boy-Who-Lived is now the Boy-Who-Lies and an attention-seeking brat. Dumbledore is no longer their beacon of light and instead is a barmy old fool. He's also no longer the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, something Lucius was only too smug to tell him. 

A cruel smirk crossed Voldemort’s face. “With the ministry refusing to acknowledge my return, and everyone believing Potter and the old fool to be liars, no one would be paying attention to me,” he said to himself. “No doubt Dumbledore would recall that infernal group of his, The Order of Phoenix,” he sneered the name. “But they’re harmless. They don’t have the guts to stop me, nor my followers.”

Voldemort stopped his pacing and turned to stare into the fire, the light from the flames making his already glowing red eyes burn even brighter. “Those idiots won’t know what hit them.”

(oooOOOooo)

Harry descended the stairs of Peverell Cottage, intent on searching out Hunter. The room he had chosen had a window that looked over the backyard. To his surprise, Harry saw that there was a greenhouse in the back, sitting right up against the hedges. It looked to be as big as one of the greenhouses back at Hogwarts. 

His room was very spacious, with a comfy bed, a writing desk, and a wardrobe that already contained clothes for him. He had immediately made himself at home, placing his trunk at the foot of the bed and Hedwig’s cage on the desk. Before he left the room, he opened the window so Hedwig can come in when she gets back. 

“Hunter?” Harry called out when he saw the man wasn’t in the living room. 

“In here,” his voice rang out, coming from the kitchen. Harry followed it and came to a surprising sight. The kitchen itself was magnificent, a table for four off to the side.

However, what made him pause was what Hunter was doing. He was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot that Harry couldn’t see. But judging by the smell, it was something good. Really good. Seasonings were flying off the rack to dump some of their contents into the pot while he was stirring before settling themselves back into place. In the sink, there were dishes that were getting washed and then setting down on the drying rack when done. 

“Hi,” Harry said timidly, his hands twitching slightly at not knowing what to do with himself in this situation. Everything seemed to be running smoothly. 

Hunter turned to look at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he said warmly, stepping away from the stove to walk towards him. When he let go, the spoon continued to stir. “Did you pick out a room?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said. He felt a little awkward; what kind of conversation do you have with someone who is you, but at the same time, not? “I didn’t know you had a greenhouse,” he went with a safe topic.

“Yeah, I grow some plants and my potion ingredients in there.”

“Potions?” Harry couldn’t help but say, shock coloring his voice. 

Hunter’s lips twitched in amusement. “Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Despite how Professor Snape made it seem during our school years, it’s actually a very useful subject. It’s very relaxing.”

“Relaxing?” Harry’s voice took on a high pitch. 

Hunter let out a laugh. “It’s just like cooking,” he said in amusement. “Well, except if you make a wrong move your potion could explode in your face.”

“Uh-huh.” Harry couldn’t find anything to add to that. “Um…do you make potions in the kitchen?”

“No,” Hunter shook his head. “I’ve converted the basement in this house into a potions lab.”

“Oh.”

Harry went quiet. He finally has the opportunity to know what’s been kept from him, but now that he’s here, he doesn’t know how to bring it up. Does he just ask outright? Does he wait until Hunter brings it up? Does he dance around the subject until he finds the right opportunity?

Unknown to Harry, Hunter can tell exactly what was going on through the teen’s mind. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and wasn’t good at keeping his face neutral...yet. He was finally going to get what he wanted; answers to questions he’s been asking for years. But now that he had the chance, he doesn’t know how to go about it. And when he finally asks the questions, he won’t know what to do with the answers.

But Hunter needs to prepare him for the reality.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he said as he turned back to the stove.

“Dinner?” Harry questioned, glancing out the windows of the kitchen. It still seems early.

“It’s a little late for lunch,” Hunter explained. “We’ll just have an early dinner. You’re going to need this evening to think.”

The implications behind that statement did not escape Harry, whose eyes widened slightly at what Hunter was saying.

“Go sit down,” Hunter motioned with his head at the table. “I’ll bring it to you.”

Harry sat down, not questioning what the older man said, his mind still on what he said moment earlier. ‘Is what he’s going to tell me be so bad?’ Harry furrowed his brow. ‘What could he possibly say that will make me break down? What is being kept from me? Who lied to me? Why did they lie to me?’

Harry was wrenched from his thoughts when Hunter placed a bowl in from of him, the soup he made filling it to the brim and handed him a spoon. “Here.”

Harry smiled shyly at him in thanks, not used to this kind of hospitality from anyone except Mrs. Weasley, before he started eating. A comforting warmth spread through his body as he kept shoveling down the food, not like Ron however. It was probably one of the best dishes he’s ever eaten, including some of the ones at Hogwarts.

Hunter, who had sat across from him to eat his own soup, was smiling slightly as Harry devoured the food that was placed in front of him pretty quickly. He wasn’t halfway done with his own when Harry finished his whole bowl. ‘Not surprising,’ Hunter thought, his smile turning bitter, ‘He only gets enough food when he’s at Hogwarts or with the Weasleys.’

Harry looked up when he finished. “That...that was really good,” he admitted.

Hunter’s lips pulled into a smirk. “I’ll take the compliment.”

Harry settled back into his chair, a smile forming on his face and closed his eyes. The stress was gone, he didn’t feel as sad as he was an hour ago, and his stomach was full for the first time in weeks. He felt...peaceful. Unfortunately, the feeling will not last.

“In about a week, a couple of Dementors will show up at the Dursley house.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he gazed at Hunter in shock. He wasn’t looking at him, his eyes focused on his food as he ate. “What?” Harry gasped. “Dementors? Why? I thought they guard Azkaban.”

“They do,” Hunter lifted his eyes to look at him. “But think about it, Harry. What is a Dementor’s specialty?”

“Making you feel really cold,” Harry answered, his eyes going blank as he remembered each of his encounters with the creatures. “They bring out your worst memories so you relive them over and over again.”

“That’s right. But what is the other thing they do that makes them so deplorable?”

“The Kiss,” Harry said after a moment. “Right? The Dementor’s Kiss. When they suck your soul out through your mouth.”

Hunter nodded. “Exactly. Someone from the ministry is going to send a couple of Dementors after you to have you Kissed.”

Harry reeled back slightly. “The Ministry is after me?” he asked in shock. “But...but I haven’t done anything! I haven’t used magic or anything!”

Hunter sighed. “Look, Harry,” he said, his voice going soft. “After the end of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, you appeared with Cedric’s dead body and told everyone that Voldemort was back.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Harry asked in frustration. “All I did was tell the truth!”

“And therein lies the problem,” Hunter said. “No one, except a select few, wants to believe that he’s back. You’ve been stuck with the Dursleys for the last few weeks, so you haven’t seen The Daily Prophet, but they’ve been describing you as a liar who craves attention so badly that you’d make up horrific stories just to get people to listen to you.”

“What?” Harry said hoarsely. “But...b-but I’m not! I hate my fame! It’s not my fault that they all believe me to be some kind of hero!”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They all think he’s some kind of liar just because he told them that Voldemort was back. What, did they think the problem will go away if they just ignored it?

“So that’s it?” he asked. “Fudge is going to have someone try to shut me up?”

“Not exactly,” Hunter shook his head. “See, Fudge doesn’t want to be the Minister that allowed Voldemort to return. The Ministry is in control of The Daily Prophet and Fudge used them to slander your name. However, someone who is loyal to him doesn’t think that just destroying your reputation is enough, so they want to shut you up for good. And even if you managed to defend yourself against them, you would use magic and be called in for a hearing about your ‘improper use of magic’.”

Harry scowled at what Hunter was telling him. He couldn’t believe how far people will go just because they wouldn’t even consider the possibility of Voldemort being back. They should be preparing themselves! They should be making sure that he can’t powerful again or something! But suddenly, something that Hunter said came back to him. “What do you mean Fudge ‘used’ The Daily Prophet? Is he doing something else now instead?”

A smirk crossed Hunter’s face. “The Ministry and The Daily Prophet got away with slandering your name in the past because you didn’t have a proper magical guardian. However, since I became your magical guardian and gained custody of you, they’ve backed off in fear of being sued for slander.”

“Oh.”

Harry felt a little bit of the tension leave his body at what Hunter said. He knows that there was already nasty stuff written about him that has already damaged his reputation, but at least there won’t be anymore.

A thought occurred to Harry. “Hunter, did you let Dumbledore know what’s going on? He’s going to be worried if I’m not at the Dursleys.”

To Harry’s surprise, a dark look passed over Hunter’s face. “Oh, he’ll be worried alright,” he said darkly.

“What’s wrong? Why would Dumbledore worrying about me be bad?” Harry questioned him. A cold feeling was slithering down his spine and his breathing was getting slightly labored. He probably knew somewhere in the back of his mind what Hunter meant, but he needed to hear it from the man himself. 

Hunter stared at him intently from across the table, his green eyes staring into the ones across from him with a little sadness. Sadness, Harry will come to realize later, that wasn’t directed at the situation, but at Harry for having to say what needed to be said. “You cannot trust Dumbledore Harry,” he said seriously. “He has never acted in your best interest, and he never will.”

Harry stared at him, shocked beyond belief. ‘I can’t trust Dumbledore?’ he thought in silent horror. ‘But...he’s Dumbledore! The Headmaster of Hogwarts! He always makes sure I’m alright. I trust him…’

Something Hunter said earlier that day came back to him. ‘You’ve been lied to and deceived by someone you trust.’

“Wait...Dumbledore…” Harry’s voice trailed off as his emotions started acting up.

Hunter nodded grimly, correctly deducing where Harry’s thoughts went. “Dumbledore has been lying and playing you ever since you stepped foot into Hogwarts. Even before then.”

Harry didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to be able to call Hunter on his lies and demand to be taken back to the Dursleys, owl Dumbledore and have this whole mess swept away and under the rug. But he knew he couldn’t. Maybe it was the fact that Hunter had taken him from the Dursleys, or had fed him food without him asking, or seems to genuinely care about him, or even that he’s actually himself from the future. But in the short amount a time they’ve spent together, he came to trust him more than he’s ever trusted anyone. He wouldn’t lie to him.

“Are you sure?” Harry croaked, a small part of him still holding onto the belief that Dumbledore had actually cared about him all these years. “Maybe you’ve got it wrong. He’s always helped me.”

Hunter nodded. “I’ve lived through it,” he said softly. “Trust me when I say, he doesn’t care about you.” Hunter hated being so blunt, but the boy needed to hear it and process it as the truth.

And that’s when the dam broke.

A sob broke through Harry’s lips. And another. And another, and another, until his body was shaking from the force of them. He didn’t notice that his fists were clenched and shaking at his sides. He didn’t notice that he was shaking his head slightly in slight denial. He didn’t notice Hunter wrap his arms around him in a hug. All he could focus on was the fact that Dumbledore, the man he saw as a grandfather, the man who he always went to with his problems, the person who always seemed to push him in the right direction, the person he thought would always be on his side. All he could focus on was that the man never cared for him.

He didn’t yet know the extension of Dumbledore’s manipulations, didn’t know how Slytherin the self-proclaimed Gryffindor was, nor how much he hid under his grandfatherly facade. He didn’t know the things he’s done to accomplish what he likes to call ‘The Greater Good’ or the lengths he’d go to achieve them. That will come later. Unfortunately for Harry, Dumbledore was far worse than he could’ve imagined.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any Harry Potter characters besides some OC ones that may or may not pop up. I also DO NOT own any story plots that are canon. I do, however, own the things that ARE NOT canon.

Fred and George were the only ones still seated at the table in the dining room, plates of their mother’s dinner that she cooked earlier that evening sitting in front of them and uncharacteristic frowns on their faces. They weren’t in the mood to eat. 

A couple of days after the summer holiday had started, Dumbledore showed apparated to the Burrow and announced that he was moving their family to Grimmauld Place, a townhouse in London. 

“Your family is very close to Mister Potter,” he had said to their father. “Now that Voldemort has returned, he will undoubtedly target everyone who is close to him. There is a place in London that has the necessary wards, where your family shall be safe.”

So without much protest, well, from their parents anyway, they packed up most of their things and moved to Grimmauld Place, where they’re at now. 

Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, lives here as well, along with Buckbeak, a hippogriff that he escaped on back in Fred and George’s fifth year. Hermione showed up a couple of days after they all settled in, being one of Harry’s best friends and a viable target of Death Eaters and Voldemort for kidnap and torture. 

But something Dumbledore said when they were all together didn’t sit right with the twins. 

*“Do not attempt to contact Mister Potter. We can’t have Death Eaters tracking him to his residence, and having Lord Voldemort figuring out where he is. Please, for his own safety, do not try to contact Mr. Potter.”*

Now, they can understand wanting to keep Harry safe. After all, to them, he’s like the little brother they wished they had. He’s one of the few people who can actually tell them apart and doesn’t treat them like they’re the same person. He’s important to them, so they want him safe as much as anyone else. 

But…*not* to contact him? Like, at all? They get not wanting owls to be tracked, but there are other ways to get in touch with someone. From what they remembered from when they picked Harry up from his relatives' house, they had a fireplace. They could use the Floo system to contact him if they wanted. And even then, there were muggle ways that were unknown to them that they probably could’ve used. 

They had thought Hermione, being the only one other than Harry to grow up in the muggle world and being the self-proclaimed brightest witch of her year, would point that out to the Headmaster, but she just nodded along to his words with everyone else. 

The twins didn’t like it. Harry has just been through the Triwizard Tournament. He faced a dragon and almost got burned alive, went to the dwelling of the merpeople and almost drowned, and then went into a maze where he faced creatures that tried to kill him, ended up in a graveyard with Cedric Diggory who actually did get killed, witnessed Voldemort be brought back to life, and ended up having to duel the monster himself. No matter what Harry had told them before he left with his relatives, there’s no way that he’s fine after all of that. 

So, leaving him alone, leaving him cut off from everyone after going through all that…*really* rubbed them the wrong way. 

Fred sighed, bringing them out of their memories and back to the present. “I don’t like this Gred.”

George shook his head. “Me neither Forge, me neither.”

“I’ve always joked that Dumbledore has gone mad, but I think this time he really has,” Fred continued. “I mean, really? He can’t honestly believe that leaving Harry cut off like this would be best, can he?”

“I dunno,” George answered as he stared unseeingly at his plate of food. “He seemed pretty serious when he told us. His eyes didn’t even twinkle.”

If anyone were to walk in on them now, they wouldn't recognize the twins at first glance. Fred and George were really smart and intuitive, despite being pranksters and loving to goof off. They’d have to be, in order to plan their pranks to go off correctly and at specific times. 

“I want to try to contact him anyway,” George continued. “Screw what Dumbledore says. If I went through even a little of what Harry did, I wouldn’t want to be alone. Especially since his relatives don’t seem like the type to care about ‘magical’ problems. Or any of his problems, really.”

Fred smiled. “You read my mind Gred,” he said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “So, how you reckon we do it? We’re hardly left alone and I doubt Hermione would teach us how to send a letter the muggle way if she finds out we want to send it to Harry.”

George nodded, ideas rolling around in his head as he stared absentmindedly at the wall in front of him. It wasn’t clean, but then again, the entire house was in need of cleaning. Honestly, Ron and Ginny’s daily complaining about the state of things were driving them mad. It seems as if Kreacher, the House-Elf in charge, didn’t do much cleaning while the house didn’t have inhabitants. 

Suddenly, a smirk began to form on George’s face as a plan began forming in his mind. 

“I know that look,” Fred said. And he does, he’d seen it often enough in the mirror. “What are you thinking?”

George turned and quickly told him what he was thinking. When he was done, Fred had a matching smirk on his face. 

“Well,” he said as he turned to look at the wall his twin was looking at not five minutes ago. “I admit, mum and dad won’t think of this, and I doubt Dumbledore would either.”

George nodded. “Exactly.”

It was at that moment their mother chose to walk in. She sighed when she saw the untouched food on the plates in front of them. “Really now boys, if you didn’t want to eat you should’ve said something,” she scolded as she took their plates to the kitchen. “Go on to your rooms now. It’s getting late and you two should be getting some sleep. We’re going to start cleaning this place up tomorrow, you’ll want to get all the sleep you can.”

They both nodded. “Goodnight mum,” they chorused as they headed for the door that led to the stairs and their room. Hermione and Ginny shared a room while Ron was in a room with them. When they got there he was already asleep. They chose to discuss their plan further, seeing as their brother wasn’t awake to disturb them. 

It really was a great plan, but then, what’d you expect from two teens who were almost sorted into Slytherin, the House of Cunning and Ambition?

(oooOOOooo)

*“Killed me, that one did…you fight him, boy.” The ghost of an old man with a hunched posture floating in the air, a determined look upon his face.*

*“Don’t let go, now! Don’t let him get you, Harry - don’t let go!” The ghostly shadow of Bertha Jorkins hovering anxiously on the edges of his vision.*

*“Your father’s coming…hold on for your father…it will be alright…hold on…” Lily Potter’s green eyes, so intent on him.*

*“When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments…but we will give you time…you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts…do you understand, Harry?” James Potter, so much like him but different all the same.*

*“Harry…take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents…” Cedric’s gray ghost floating above him, a sad look upon his features.*

*“Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!” Voldemort with his maniacally glinting red eyes, his Death Eaters standing behind him with their wands at the ready.*

Harry bolted upright in his bed, a scream in his throat and sweat covering every inch of his body. Looking around, he acquainted himself with his surroundings. He wasn’t back in the graveyard with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He was in his room at Peverell Cottage, the room he went to after his conversation with Hunter the previous day. Panting heavily from the nightmare, or in this case a terrible memory, he placed his head in his hands with a sigh.

Unfortunately, Harry was no stranger to nightmares; he’s been having them for nearly all his life. Before finding out about having magic and getting to go to Hogwarts, his nightmares consisted of a woman screaming, a green light, and a cold, cruel laugh. After his first year at Hogwarts, his nightmares took a different turn. A troll with its club, a three-headed dog, and a person with a black cloak covering their face joins in with the others. After his second year, a huge Basilisk with sharp fangs with blood dripping from its closed eyes joined in as well. After his third year, the sounds of his mum and dad yelling and screaming for Voldemort to let him live appeared. And after his fourth year-

Well, what he just went through is an example. Sometimes a ferocious dragon will be there in his nightmares too, or the sight of Mad-Eye Moody becoming a different person with a crazy smile.

Nightmares have never left him, and he doubted they ever will. It’s just something he came to terms with a long time ago.

“Harry? Are you okay?”

Harry looked up from his hands and glanced at where the voice came from.

Hunter was standing in the doorway, his wand held aloft with a slight glow coming from it. A Lumos.

“Hunter? Why are you up?” Harry asked, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table. He studiously avoided the question he was asked.

Hunter quirked a brow, knowing exactly what Harry was doing, but didn’t call him out on it. “I’ve always been a light sleeper,” he explained. “Your magic exploded outward from your body and it woke me up. I just came in here to see what was going on and if you were alright.”

“What do you mean ‘my magic exploded’?”

“Not in the literal sense. Think like accidental magic, except way more powerful. Your magic reacted to your emotions.”

“Oh.” Harry looked down at his hands in his lap. “Um, what time is it? Is it in the middle of the night?” He asked, glancing at the darkness outside his window.

Hunter flicked his wand and numbers appeared before him. “It’s a little after five in the morning,” he informed the teen, canceling the spell.

“Oh.” Harry looked back out the window. He doesn’t know how to talk to Hunter when there wasn’t anything super important going on. He and Harry discussing how to get away from Privet Drive were probably the longest verbal exchanged they’ve had. How do you talk to someone who’s actually you, but acts completely different? How do you hold a conversation with yourself? 

Harry remembered the conversation he had with Hermione when they were still in their third year, on a mission to save Sirius and Buckbeak. She had said that coming face to face with your younger self will cause you to go mad. So, why hasn’t he gone mad? Or why hasn’t Hunter? Is it because Hunter doesn’t look like a carbon copy of him?

A dip in the bed alerted him to the fact that Hunter hadn’t left. He turned to see him sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at him with concern written on his face and in his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

‘Huh? What is he talking about?’ Harry thought to himself, before realizing he was referencing his nightmare. “Uh, no,” he shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Hunter raised an unbelieving brow at him. He knew all about deflection; after all, he used it all the time when he was younger.

Harry sighed at the look Hunter was giving him, somehow knowing he won’t be able to get out of this. “It was about the night Voldemort came back,” he admitted after a moment. “When I was dueling him.”

Hunter said nothing, merely nodded in affirmation. “It’s normal, you know, to be having nightmares,” he explained. “You went through a terrible trauma, not to mention that you probably have survivor’s guilt.”

“‘Survivor’s guilt’?”

“Because of Cedric,” Hunter said softly. “You came back alive but...but he didn’t.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Before he left Hogwarts, many of the students who didn’t believe Voldemort was back believed that he, Harry, was the one who actually killed Cedric for the glory of winning the Triwizard Tournament. Having seen Cedric die by the hands of someone he viewed as a coward and a traitor by the orders of someone he saw as a monster and lunatic, made him feel both angered and depressed whenever the topic of his death came up. 

Hunter sighed as his hand dragged down his face. “I’m going to teach you how to block your mind.”

Harry looked at him, shock and confusion on his face. “‘Block my mind’?” he repeated in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a branch of magic called Occlumency that acts as a mind shield,” Hunter explained. “Whether it’s shielding from outside penetration and influence or unwanted memories.”

“So…it will help with the nightmares?” Harry asked when he registered the last part of what Hunter said. 

“Yes,” he answered. “It will also help with your emotions so you can keep them under control better. At least you won’t lash out in anger too much if something frustrates you.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry protested. “I have control over my emotions!”

Hunter merely raised a brow at him. “Aunt Marge?” He asked, his tone flat with a hint of amusement buried underneath. 

Harry flushed in embarrassment and didn’t say anything. 

“Your emotions are tied to your magic when they’re powerful enough and can influence your spells,” Hunter explained. “The Patronus Charm is an example.”

“Because it uses your happiest memory?” Harry guessed. 

The older man nodded. “Exactly. A memory with an extremely powerful positive emotion will make an amazing Patronus.”

Harry nodded absentmindedly. He admitted to himself that learning Occlumency sounded really useful, especially if it will help with the nightmares. Being able to shield…your mind from…anything…

*“Whether it’s shielding from outside penetration and influence or unwanted memories.”*

The teen frowned. “Wait,” he said. “What did you mean when you said it can shield from outside penetration and influence?”

Hunter nodded in approval. “I was waiting for you to notice,” he said with a smile, causing Harry to flush in slight embarrassment. “While Occlumency is the art of magically shielding your mind, Legilimency is the art of magically navigating the mind.”

“Navigating?”

“Yes, navigating. The mind isn’t so easy to read. You’re probably thinking that it’s like flipping through the pages of a book after looking at the table of contents. Think of the mind as…as a file cabinet that isn’t labeled; you won’t know what a certain memory is unless you open it up. Sometimes, if the person is skilled enough, they can influence a person's emotions through Legilimency as well. If someone doesn’t know Occlumency then it would be easier to access their memories than someone who does. A person who can perform Legilimency is called a Legilimens while a person who can perform Occlumency is called an Occlumens.”

Harry’s head was spinning at the information. “So, wizards and witches can actually read minds?” He asked, mostly to himself. “How do you know when they’re doing it?”

“Well, first of all, there needs to be eye contact,” Hunter explained. “For someone who isn’t skilled in Occlumency, it is almost impossible to tell, especially if the person doing it wants to be subtle. If they aren’t subtle, then you’ll have a pounding headache, you just wouldn't know from what. However, if someone is skilled in Occlumency then they’ll know immediately. The Legilimens would either be forced out of their mind or would come against their shields.”

“Has anyone ever looked through your mind?” Harry asked after a moment. 

The older man looked sad for a split second before his face took on the passive look he had earlier. “More times than I could count, ” he admitted.

“…was Dumbledore one of them?”

“He was the one who did most of it,” Hunter replied instantly. 

Harry closed his eyes in sadness as a grimace overtook his face. ‘I still can’t believe…that it’s Dumbledore,’ He thought to himself.

He opened his eyes and stared out the window of his room. “You said that Dumbledore betrayed my trust,” he stated without turning his head. “…why did he do it? And…and how did he?”

“Harry, maybe we should save this talk until-”

“You don’t have to tell me everything!” Harry interrupted hastily as he turned back to face him. “You don’t have to say everything right now. Just…just a few things.”

Hunter stared at him for a moment, his green eyes boring into Harry’s own. Harry didn’t look away, trying to mentally convey to him just how much he desperately wanted answers. After a moment, the impromptu staring contest came to an end when Hunter closed his eyes with a sigh. “I’ve forgotten how stubborn you can be,” he grumbled halfheartedly.

Harry gave a weak grin at that, but he couldn’t help the sliver of elation that flowed through him at Hunter’s admission. ‘Now...maybe now I can get some answers to some things I’ve been wondering about,’ he thought to himself.

Hunter stood up from the bed, earning himself a questioning look from the teen. “C’mon,” he said to him. “Neither of us is going to be getting back to sleep soon, so I might as well start making breakfast.”

Harry looked at him in shock, even as he grabbed his wand after getting out of his bed. “Isn’t it too early to be having breakfast though?” he asked.

Hunter shrugged. “There isn’t really a set time for food,” he said as he walked out the room, Harry right behind him. “Besides, I need good food in me so I don’t become too irritable.”

“‘Irritable’?” Harry repeated in confusion.

“Yes, irritable,” Hunter said dryly. “Talking about the old fool you know as ‘Albus Dumbledore’ always gets me in a foul mood. Eating something I made while I talk about him might prevent me from hexing something.”

“It’s really that bad then?” Harry asked, after a moment. “What he did, I mean?”

Hunter merely nodded. 

They entered the kitchen, Harry going to sit at the table while Hunter approached the appliances, taking his wand out as he did. 

Harry’s mind turned inward when Hunter began summoning things to him to begin cooking. ‘Dumbledore,’ he thought. ‘I’ll admit when Hunter told me that someone I trusted betrayed and lied to me, he wasn’t the first person to pop into my head. Well, no one really popped into my head, because I couldn’t believe someone could do that to me. What is it that Dumbledore has done that has Hunter reacting like this? I thought he was always watching out for me, being the grandfather I never had. He seemed like he was one of the few people who actually cared about me.’

The sound of something sizzling brought him from his thoughts and he looked up to find Hunter in front of the stove, his eyes focused on the pans filled with cooking food. 

“Albus Dumbledore,” he said as he worked. “Formerly the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts and Deputy Headmaster, now acting as its Headmaster. Defeater of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald.”

Harry stayed quiet, his whole focus on Hunter as he talked.

“Because he defeated Grindelwald,” he continued, “he was gifted with The Order of Merlin, First Class, and considered ‘The Leader of the Light’; the most revered wizard since Merlin himself and the four founders of Hogwarts. And when Voldemort was on the rise, it was he who everyone looked to for guidance. Rumors spread that Voldemort wouldn’t attack Hogwarts just because Dumbledore was there.”

He flipped something over in one of the pans - ‘Bacon,’ Harry realized - before he continued speaking. “Dumbledore was used to being put on a pedestal. He was used to being the one everyone looked to and admired. But that all changed when Voldemort came after you and your parents.”

“What?” Harry questioned. “How did that change anything?”

“Harry, Voldemort came to your house, killed both your parents and then tried to kill you,” Hunter said, not unkindly. “When the dust settled, Voldemort was gone and you were still there, with a lightning-shaped scar on your forehead. To everyone else, you defeated Voldemort. You, who wasn’t even two years of age yet, managed to defeat a wizard almost as notorious as Grindelwald was. And suddenly, Dumbledore wasn’t the one everyone was toasting to; you were.”

“Where are you going with this?” Harry asked after a long moment of thoughtful silence, his voice quiet. 

Hunter didn’t immediately reply. 

Harry watched as he finished up at the stove and brought the food to the table. He sat down before he spoke. “In the simplest of terms Harry, you’re merely a pawn in Dumbledore’s world-sized chessboard,” he spoke gently. “You were the one to bring the downfall of Voldemort, so he wants to control you. To him, you are a means to an end he wants to achieve. He wants you as his ideal ‘Soldier of the Light’ that looks up to him and dedicates everything to him. So, when everything is said and done, he will be revered again.”

Harry looked down when Hunter finished speaking. The food he had set on the table earlier no longer looked or smelled appetizing. His head was swimming with the new information he was just told and he didn’t know where to start.

“So,” Harry said, his voice small and quiet, very unlike him, “Dumbledore has been….manipulating me this whole time?”

Hunter nodded, his eyes sad. “I am so sorry Harry,” he said softly. 

Harry didn’t acknowledge the apology, his head still bowed as he stared unseeingly at the plate of food in front of him.

Hunter stared at the boy across from him, regret simmering in his chest. However, the regret was for the reaction he had, not for what he told him. Harry needs to know what’s going on around him in order to be safe. Hiding things from him would just put him in more danger, if not from the dangers themselves, then by him going off on his own to find the answers that were denied him.

“Hunter,” Harry said, lifting his face to stare into the eyes of the man sitting across from him. “What happens now? What do I do?”

Surprisingly, Hunter gave him a smile. “Now?” he said, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Now, I train you to survive. To survive, and to win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who *doesn't* love Gred and Forge?!?!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any Harry Potter characters except some OC ones that may or may not pop up. I also DO NOT own any story plots that are canon. I do, however, own things that ARE NOT canon.

Ron let out a groan as he collapsed into the only chair in the room. His head fell back as he closed his eyes with a sigh, partly from irritation and partly from exhaustion.

His mother had decreed that they were to clean Grimmauld Place because she, and he quotes, 'Cannot live in a place so filthy it can revive the Black family name itself.'

He had been up since early that morning and had done nothing but clean, only taking a break to have something to eat, before getting right back to work.

Ginny seemed to be the only one who put up as much as a fight as he initially did when his mum announced her plans. Hermione, Ron noticed, only scrunched up her nose in irritation and disgust aimed at the house while the twins, surprisingly, didn't say anything, just nodded at her suggestion (orders). His dad didn't argue with her, partly because he agreed that the house needed to be cleaned and slightly because he could never really go against his mother on trivial things.

Sirius, not wanting to have anything to do with the house, had surprisingly jumped at the chance to make the place cleaner. He had said that he wanted the place to be excellent for when Harry finally got there.

Ron could not *wait* until Dumbledore says that Harry could come. Everything was always much more exciting with Harry around, all the adventures they got to go on and the mysteries they got to solve.

Back then, Ron didn't know that becoming Harry's friend would mean participating in every new thing that came around the corner. Sure it was dangerous, but that is what made it all the more fun in Ron's opinion.

Of course, things didn't always go right; like when they lost all those points or when Hermione got petrified or when Harry fell off his broom or when he faced You-Know-Who *three* times in the last *four* years, but everything worked out in the end! They helped people and got rid of the bad guys! Everyone loved them!

Well, everyone except the Slytherins and Snape, but who cares about the opinion of slimy snakes anyway?

Every year, something happened. In the Golden Trio's first year, there was a troll, a malfunctioning broom, a Philosopher's Stone, You-Know-Who, and a teacher who was working for him while also being possessed by him.

In their second year, there was a blocked entryway, petrified students, Harry's reveal of being a Parselmouth, giant spiders (*shudder*), a Basilisk, and the mystery of who was petrifying everyone. (Which turned out to be his sister who was being possessed which was, you know, bad).

In their third year, there were Dementors, an escaped (wrongly convicted) criminal who everyone thought was after Harry, a traitor that was disguised as his pet rat, and a mission that had involved time travel.

(Ron was still bummed he wasn't involved in that one.)

And finally, there was last year, which had the Triwizard Tournament. Someone entered Harry in the tournament (although Ron *did* think Harry entered himself - all the fame and money if you won? Why *wouldn't* Harry want to enter his own name?) and he had to go through three tasks, all of them super dangerous, but ultimately cool in Ron's opinion. (Seriously, who could say they faced a *dragon* at *school*?). And then at the end of everything, You-Know-Who was able to come back, Cedric Diggory died, and their DADA teacher turned out to be a Death Eater under Polyjuice Potion.

So, by his train of thought, there *should* be something happening this year, right? Ron was friends with *Harry Potter*, and trouble follows him everywhere. So there should be another adventure for them to go on, right?

"*Ronald Weasley*!"

Ron jumped at the shout and turned to see his mum standing in the doorway.

"When I sent you up here, it was with the expectation that you would clean, not laze about," she asserted strongly. "Everyone else is doing their part to help out around here, and you will do yours as well."

Ron felt his ears heat up, and his face flush in embarrassment. "Sorry mum."

She shook her head. "When I come back to check on you later, there had better be an obvious difference in the room than what I see now."

Ron could only nod as she exited the room. Looking around him at all the dust, dirt, and grime, he could only whimper softly to himself.

'Harry, mate, please get here as soon as you can. I can't take much more of this!' he thought despairingly to himself.

(oooOOOooo)

Cornelius Fudge sat back in his chair with a sigh as his eyes stared unseeingly around his office. He was tired, annoyed, exasperated, and everything in between.

The cause of it all?

Albus *sodding* Dumbledore and Harry *bloody* Potter.

Fudge never liked them, regardless of their achievements. Dumbledore held a lot of weight with a lot of people and Potter, despite his accomplishment in taking down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was nothing more than Dumbledore's lapdog.

Fudge was always suspicious of Dumbledore's intentions. He had enough influence to be *Minister* if he wanted to but had always claimed he preferred to be Headmaster of Hogwarts instead.

Fudge didn't believe it. Not for a second.

Especially ever since Potter started his schooling. It seemed like there was *always* something going on.

Students being petrified one year and an escaped convict the next.

But this last year? This last year was the last straw.

Fudge had let a lot of things slide, he can admit to himself. Dumbledore *had* given him advice over the years, and Potter's magical ability must be excellent if he had managed to defeat a dark wizard almost as notorious as Grindelwald was; he could respect that, even if he didn't like it.

But this past year was something he couldn't ignore. Discarding the fact that Potter illegally cheated his way into the Triwizard Tournament, which Fudge still thought Dumbledore assisted with, he started making outlandish accusations.

Fudge can understand Potter getting shocked by his fame and then wanting more of it. (His years at Hogwarts were of him always wanting to be the center of attention. Lucius told Fudge himself with letters from his own son as proof.)

But to declare in front of the students of three primary wizarding schools, their Headmasters, visiting families, and Ministry officials, that *You-Know-Who* was back and that he was responsible for killing young Cedric Diggory?

And for Dumbledore to go along with it? By making it look like some...some *madman* was the one to orchestrate everything?

What a load of hogwash.

He was done with holding back. He gave the Daily Prophet the reins and let them write exactly what was needed to get the populace to see what kind of people Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter really were; a senile old fool and an attention-seeking brat.

And it was working. Dumbledore had lost all of his titles and, most importantly, his position as Head of the Wizagamot. He was barely hanging onto the seat of Headmaster of Hogwarts as it was.

Fudge didn't know what the Prophet had done for all of the people who had idolized Potter, but he was sure it was nothing good.

It was unfortunate that the Prophet had stopped writing about him, though. The editor had come to see Fudge yesterday to inform him that someone had come forward to warn about suing them for slander and defamation. And since most of its shares belong to the Ministry, they could be involved as well.

Usually, Fudge wouldn't give a rat's arse about someone claiming that (it's been done before and they've always won out in the end) but the editor had adamantly refused to print more damaging articles about Potter. He had even gone so far as to say he'd quit if Fudge kept insisting he publishes them.

The whole conversation had left him wondering what kind of person had come forward to talk to (threaten) his hardened, war-veteran editor of the most influential newspaper in the magical world. But another part of him didn't want to know who that person was, so when he agreed to his editor's demands, he didn't ask for the person's name.

He already had enough things on his plate, he didn't feel like dealing with something he declared meager in the grand scheme of things. They still had Dumbledore to write about, they'll be fine.

(Fudge's head may have been buried firmly in the sand, but that's okay; he liked it there.)

A knock on the door disturbed him from his thoughts, and he straightened from the slump he had unconsciously sunk into. "Come in," he spoke, his voice as confident as he could make it.

The door opened and in walked in Dolores Umbridge, his undersecretary, and one of the people he trusted the most within the Ministry. "Ah, Dolores," Fudge greeted warmly, genuinely glad to see her. "Is everything alright? Do you need anything?"

She smiled. "No no, I don't need anything from you, Minister," she replied sweetly. "I've just come to ask you a question."

"Oh? Well then, fire away, my dear."

"I have noticed that the Daily Prophet has stopped mentioning young Mister Potter in its articles," she responded. "Are we no longer telling the truth about him?"

Fudge couldn't help but sigh. "Trust me, my dear, I would love to tell the truth about who that little brat really is. Unfortunately, someone had come forward and threatened the editor with legal action unless he stopped printing those stories."

"Really?" Dolores' eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed thoughtfully. "Who was it?"

"I actually have no idea," Fudge admitted. "I didn't get their name from them; however, whoever they are, has really shaken up the editor."

"I see," Dolores said, a weird glint in her eyes. "Well, thank you for seeing me, Minister. I shall take my leave."

Fudge nodded at her. "Let us hope the next time we talk it will be about more positive topics."

Dolores merely smiled and left his office, closing the door sharply behind her.

After she left his office, Fudge slumped down in his seat again, his weariness starting to catch up once again.

"Dumbledore and Potter," he muttered to himself. "Why are those two always trying to make my job harder than it needs to be?"

~Meanwhile~

Dolores had an unpleasant frown upon her face as she walked back towards her office.

'This won't do,' she thought to herself. 'No, this won't do at all. I'll have to move up my plans.'

(oooOOOooo)

The evening sun was shining high up in the sky, pitching everything below it in a golden luminosity. The trees surrounding Peverell Cottage looked to be coated in liquid gold, and the grass seemed to be actually golden straws when the wind blew a certain way.

From the way the sunlight hit it, Peverell Cottage itself looked to be more from an old painting or a historical museum than a place where two people actually live in.

And speaking of those two people, one of them, Harry, was outside in the backyard, sprawled across the ground a little ways away from Hunter's greenhouse with a blanket beneath him and an open book placed in front of his folded arms.

The book, titled 'Beings, Beasts, and Spirits; The Difference Between Them' was old and tattered. The binding was worn from the many times it was opened, and some of its pages had creases at the top corners, most likely from when they were dog-eared to save the page.

Hunter had given him the book earlier that day, saying that he thought Harry could have something to read other than school books.

Some people thought that Harry didn't like to read and would prefer to do the practical things as opposed to the book work. And while they may be true in some cases, he actually enjoys reading about things that intrigue him. It was one of the main reasons that he had read 'Quidditch Through The Ages' more than once.

Harry has just turned another page in the book, which was starting to really interest him when he saw a shadow flit across the book in front of him. Before he could react, a brown, regal-looking owl landed beside him, a thick envelope tied to one of its legs.

He saw the red seal of Gringotts and begun to worry. 'What do they want me for?' he thought nervously. 'I've only been there to get money from my vault. It's not like I've done anything to them. Did I make the goblins mad somehow?'

A loud screech from the owl shook him from his thoughts, and he looked back to see it shaking its leg out impatiently.

"Sorry," Harry told it sheepishly before reaching out and untied the envelope from its leg. The owl hooted once more in a way that reminded him of Hedwig before taking off back into the sky. Harry watched it go for a moment before looking down at the package in his hands.

Not knowing what to do with the mail he just received, he let out a forlorn sigh as he got up from the ground. He gathered both the blanket and the book before he headed inside.

Entering the back door that led to the kitchen, Harry caught sight of Hunter once again at the stove, cooking them an early supper. Harry, sort of feeling like a burden, had earlier offered to make the food since he's made breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the Dursleys before.

When he had said that, a dark look had passed quickly over Hunter's face, gone in the next second. Hunter then smiled a smile at him that was filled with fondness before saying that he got it handled. "We'll start your training tomorrow," he had said. "Why don't you use this day to relax? Merlin knows you've hardly had a chance to do *that*."

"Harry? Everything okay?"

Hunter's voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts of earlier as he blinked. He was still standing at the stove but was staring at Harry in concern.

"Uh, yeah," he answered. "Um, actually, I need to show you something."

"Oh?"

Hunter had turned back to the food but still focused enough on Harry that he didn't feel like the older man was just talking to fill the silence.

"Yeah," Harry said as he moved towards the table, setting the blanket out of the way as he went but kept the book with him, along with the envelope. "I, ah, I got an owl."

"An owl?" Hunter repeated as he turned to face Harry, his brow furrowed. "From whom?"

"Well," Harry said as he turned his attention to the topic of conversation in his hands, "the envelope has the seal of Gringotts."

"Gringotts?"

Harry looked up at the change in Hunter's voice to see him staring at him worriedly. A chill went down his spine. "You mean," his voice wavered, "you mean this didn't happen to you?"

"No," Hunter said grimly as he made his way over to him, a wave of his wand making the kitchen utensils continue where he left off. "Let me see it."

Harry handed it over to him and watched as he ran his wand over it, words murmured too quietly for Harry to hear. After a moment, Hunter lowered his wand. "There doesn't seem to be any harmful spells cast upon it," he said. "It's safe for you to open."

Feeling slightly warier than before, Harry tore open the envelope and pulled out its contents. There were two letters and a sheet of parchment that he laid upon the table. Not knowing which to pick first, he glanced up at Hunter. "Which should I read first?"

Hunter frowned down at the contents from the envelope. "I recommend reading one of the letters first," he said thoughtfully. "It'll probably explain what's going on."

"I guess," Harry said, still slightly uneasy. He chose one of the letters at random and unfolded it. He then began to read aloud:

'Dear Mister Potter,

This letter was written to inform you a vault has been set up to receive payments from purchases in a business where you are the benefactor and part-owner. A bank statement has been enclosed with details containing amount and product.

If you wish to receive payment differently or would like to discuss details, contact your account manager.

Regards,

Ragnorok, Head of Financial Affairs.'

Harry had only gotten more confused as the letter went on. When he reached the end of it, he looked up to ask Hunter's opinion but stopped at the expression on his face.

Hunter was smiling fondly down at the letter in Harry's hand, with a touch of wistfulness in his expression. There was also a gleam in his eyes that Harry recognized from somewhere but couldn't place where he saw it.

"Hunter?"

Said man looked up at Harry's unasked question, and his smile broadened into a grin. "It's alright," he said, his tone of voice easygoing. "I'm pretty sure I know who sent you all of this."

"How sure?"

"Ninety-nine point nine percent sure."

"That's pretty sure," Harry deadpanned, to Hunter's amusement.

"Well," he said as he looked down at the other contents from the envelope, "I suppose we now know what the sheet of parchment is now."

"The 'bank statement'?" Harry said redundantly.

"Yes," Hunter nodded. "Go ahead and read the other letter. I think you'll be surprised."

"Okay," Harry said. He was still a little nervous about everything, but since Hunter said it was fine, he was trying to calm down. Harry might not have known Hunter long, but the teen trusted him more than anyone. After all, he had done something no one else bothered to do; get him away from his relatives and tell him the truth, all without expecting anything in return.

He picked up the other letter and began to read aloud once more:

'Dear Mini Marauder,'

Harry paused in his reading before he blinked in surprise as the nicknamed registered. He looked up at Hunter's smiling face in shock. "Mini Marauder?" he repeated.

Hunter simply nodded, the smile lingering on his lips.

"But," Harry continued, "that's what Fred and George call me."

"It is, isn't it?" Hunter remarked amusedly as he moved back towards the stove. "Continue reading, Harry."

Harry, feeling a bit more enthusiastic, turned his attention back to the letter in his hands.

'If you're reading this letter, then that means we succeeded in contacting you. Dumbledore showed up at the Burrow a couple of days after we got back from Hogwarts to move everyone to a safe house. There's a spell in effect so we can't tell you where we are, but we can say to you that Padfoot is here, along with Hermione.

Before Dumbledore had left, he gave all of us a 'warning' to not contact you. He said that he doesn't want any Death Eaters to track you to your relatives' place and alert You-Know-Who to your position.

We didn't like that. Leaving you alone after everything that had happened...well, let's just say we didn't agree with it.

But we couldn't just find an owl and secretly send you a letter; mum and dad are watching to make sure we all 'behave.'

Getting a letter to you this way was the only thing we could think of that mum, dad, or Dumbledore wouldn't think of. We would've asked Hermione for advice but, unfortunately, she and Ron also agree with Dumbledore.

But we've prattled on long enough.

We wanted you to know that we haven't just ignored you. The others really didn't either but, well, you know how those two are.

Hang in there, Harry. We'll see you as soon as the new term starts on the train. Try to stay out of trouble until then, okay?

(Deny that part of you Marauder's blood for a little while).

Send us an owl if you can. And if you can't, no worries; as we said, we'll see you on the train.

Be safe little brother,

Fred and George.'

Harry's sight went blurry as he read the last part of the letter. "Those two," he choked out, the emotion he felt choking the words as they escaped his mouth.

Hunter himself had misty eyes but hid the fact by keeping his attention on the cooking food in front of him. "I'm guessing the letter made you feel better?" he inquired, the tone of his voice not giving away his emotions.

Harry let out a watery chuckle. "You could say that," he admitted. He then frowned. "Wait, they said that Dumbledore moved them and Hermione to a safe house where Sirius is."

Hunter glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. "That is correct."

"Then why the bloody hell didn't I get to go?!" Harry fumed, his anger starting to bleed through. "*Especially* if Sirius is there!"

The other man sighed. He turned off the stove, apparently done with the dinner he was making - which Harry realized were pork chops and other vegetables - before the man started loading the food onto plates he had summoned wandlessly and wordlessly. "There's actually more than one reason for that," Hunter said as he handed him a plate full of food. He snatched up his own food-ladened plate before directing them to the table.

"And what are they?" Harry asked as he sat down.

"Well," Hunter began, "Dumbledore never deceived you when he said living with your relatives was safe for you. The night Voldemort killed your parents, and you attained the protection your mother gave you, Dumbledore set up blood wards around the property of the Dursleys. The blood wards were supposed to protect you against Voldemort or any of his followers if they ever found out your location."

"Oh," Harry replied. "But, you said he doesn't actually care about me. Why would he go through all that trouble just to keep me safe?"

"In his mind - his sick, twisted mind - he's not protecting you; he's protecting his weapon," Hunter said grimly.

Harry's mouth twisted into a frown as he looked down at his food.

The older man took a bite of food and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "Also," he continued, "he wants you isolated. He doesn't want you to know about anything that's going on. That way, you can rely on him to tell you events that are taking place."

Harry's frown turned into a scowl as he shoved food into his mouth. The more he heard about Dumbledore's manipulations, the more he inwardly kicked himself for not noticing sooner. Growing up in the Dursley household made him crave positive attention from anywhere he could get it. Dumbledore was one of the main people who seemed to 'genuinely' care about him so he didn't check for ulterior motives like he usually would have.

Harry then remembered something Hunter had said when they first met. "Hunter," he said, looking up and getting the man's attention. "You told me that Dumbledore never acted in my best interests."

"That's right."

"Can...can you tell me some of the things he's done?" Harry asked him, his voice slightly pleading.

Hunter's face took on a thoughtful look as he thought about his question. There were some things he couldn't tell him yet, not without teaching him Occlumency first. Things like details of the Prophecy and the circumstances surrounding Sirius were out of the question at the moment, but…

"Well," he said slowly, aware of Harry's hopeful gaze. "I guess I can tell you about your first year."

"My first year?" Harry asked, curiously. Knowing he was about to get more answers filled him with excitement.

"Mmhm," Hunter nodding with a mouthful of food. "Let's start from the beginning; getting your letter."

"Getting my letter?" Harry repeated confusingly. "Don't you mean when I boarded the train or the Sorting Ceremony?"

Hunter shook his head in negative. "No, this had started even before you officially knew about being a wizard."

"So, me getting my letter was the beginning."

"Yes," the older man nodded. "After you got your letter and Vernon and Petunia both denied knowing about it, you got another one. Did you ever wonder why you got another one? And kept getting more and more no matter how many times your relatives threw them away or destroyed them?"

"Well," Harry said after a moment. "At the time, I guess I was too busy wondering what was written on them and who was sending them to think about anything else."

Hunter nodded. "Understandable. Now, if Dumbledore knew you weren't getting your letter, why wouldn't he have sent someone earlier? Why let you travel from hotel to hotel while continuously receiving the letters?"

Harry's first response was to say 'I don't know,' but he got the feeling that Hunter wanted him to think. To come up with the answer himself. "Um," he said slowly as he quickly thought. "Uh...maybe he wanted to...to keep me...uh, interested?"

Hunter gave him a genuine smile that caused the young green-eyed man to blush furiously. "You are correct. Now think about this; when he finally sent someone to talk to you, why would he send Hagrid? Why not a teacher?"

"There's nothing wrong with Hagrid!" Harry immediately protested.

"I am not saying there is. But Hagrid is completely loyal to Dumbledore and is always praising him; you can dispute that."

Harry frowned and looked down at his food.

"You know I'm right," Hunter said gently. "He is always speaking highly of Dumbledore and calling him 'a good man.' Hagrid is an honest person, but he's also blinded by his loyalty to the old coot."

The conflict began warring inside Harry. He wanted so desperately to defend one of the first friends he made in the wizarding world, but the more rational part of his brain, the one he tended to ignore a lot, was replaying memories of his interactions with the half-giant. The many times Hagrid spoke of Dumbledore in an almost reverence passion and the way he always gave praise to Gryffindor, the house Dumbledore came from, while also belittling the other three.

Harry physically wilted as he realized Hunter was right. "So, he sent Hagrid," he said dully, his mind a chaotic mess as he processed the new information. "What else?"

Hunter sent him a concerned glance, obviously worried about the teen, but continued speaking. "Hagrid picked up a 'top-secret' package from Gringotts while he was helping you get your school things," he replied, making air-quotes with his fingers as he said top-secret. "Did you think it was a coincidence that he picked up the mysterious package the same day he was showing you around?"

Harry felt his eyes widen. "Wait, you're saying…"

"Dumbledore made sure you saw what Hagrid was doing so that you can be drawn in by the mystery," Hunter finished grimly.

Food forgotten, Harry leaned towards the other man. "Are you saying that Dumbledore intended on me going after the stone the whole time?" he demanded.

Hunter quirked a wry grin. "Well done, Harry," he praised. "I didn't expect you to figure it out right away."

The messy-haired teen sat back in his seat, his eyes going on distance as he tried to arrange his thoughts.

The whole time Harry, Ron, and Hermione were going around trying to figure out the details of what was going on, Dumbledore knew. While they spent a significant amount of time in the library researching, going over old books for clues, while they risked their lives to protect the bloody stone, Dumbledore knew.

The anger that Harry has been keeping down began to bubble up again.

"What about the obstacles?" Harry asked as he tried to fight down the urge to curse something. "You know, the ones that guarded the stone?"

Hunter nodded. "Ah, the obstacles," he said pensively. "Thinking back on it now, do you notice anything...off about them?"

"Well, at the time I knew they were weird," Harry admitted. "I guess I was too focused on getting to the stone and Voldemort to really think about it."

"And now?" Hunter prompted.

Harry thought for a moment as he recalled the memories of almost five years ago. "Now that you mention it," he said thoughtfully after a moment. "They seemed rather easy. I mean, for first years who aren't really experienced in magic it might have been difficult. But if they were actual 'defenses' then... shouldn't they have been a lot harder than a giant chessboard, chasing after a key on a broom, a logic puzzle…"

Harry trailed off as something occurred to him. "A chessboard?" he murmured to himself. "Ron was able to beat that one because he's really good at chess. And Hermione was able to figure out the potion puzzle because she's brilliant. And catching the key on a broom? It was no different than trying to catch a snitch!"

Harry looked up and met the gaze of his blank-faced guardian. "Hunter?" he asked, his voice coming out shakily. "Were...were those tests all designed specifically for us?"

Hunter calmly observed the shaken teen in front of them before letting out a sigh and gave him a bitter smile.

"Another point to you, Harry," the older man said. "Yes, you're right; those challenges were designed to test the three of you. Dumbledore waited to see who you became friends with before instructing the teachers to create specific obstacles. The giant chessboard was for Ron due to his great skill in the game; catching the right key in the air like searching for a snitch was for you; the potions puzzle that could've only be solved using logic was for Hermione."

Harry stared at Hunter without really seeing him. As he explained the events, the pieces were starting to come together in a way Harry couldn't see before when, in his opinion, it couldn't have been more obvious.

'How did I not notice any of this?' Harry thought to himself, miserably. "Why did he want me to go after the stone?" he asked aloud.

"So you could confront Voldemort," Hunter said immediately.

"What?!" Harry cried out in shock. "What the hell, mate?! Was he trying to get me killed?!"

'Not yet,' Hunter thought bitterly. "Actually, there were two reasons he wanted you to confront dear old Mouldy Voldy."

Harry couldn't help but give a small chuckle, even if it was a weak one, at the nickname.

"Reason one; he thought your mother's protection could have defeated Voldemort permanently," the older man explained.

"What?" Harry was confused.

"Remember what happened when Quirrell tried to touch you? He couldn't without burning his skin, remember? Dumbledore had thought that since Voldemort was possessing his body that he'd die along with Quirrell. But, he was wrong, and Voldemort's soul simply left the body after you defeated him."

Harry was stunned. It wasn't the first time and, unfortunately, he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. "Uh...u-um, what was the second reason?" he asked, his mind still scrambling.

"In Dumbledore's mind, on the off chance that you didn't manage to kill Voldemort, the whole experience was to prepare for your inevitable clash with Voldemort down the line," Hunter said in disgust.

Harry glanced down at the food that he wasn't in the mood to eat anymore, his head swimming with all the new information he received over the past half hour. "So," he said quietly, "what you're saying is...Dumbledore was training his 'weapon'?" he bit the last word out hatefully.

Hunter's eyes were sad as he heard the anger in his ward's tone and the word he used to describe himself as what Dumbledore thought of him. "Yes," he said softly. "And he made sure that everyone knew he 'approved' of what you did by waiting until the End-of-Term Feast to give you and Ron, Hermione, and Neville House Points."

Harry remained quiet. The manipulations revealed to him left him speechless, and if he was a little honest, a little scared. 'If Hunter hadn't come and got me, will I have noticed any of this? What would have happened to me if I continued to live my life the way it was going?' he thought shakily.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He blinked and looked up into green eyes that mirrored his own. "I'm sorry that I've overwhelmed you," Hunter said regretfully. "All this information being forced into your head and it's not half of what you need to know, but I think it's better that you have all the facts. Ignorance is not bliss, especially in your case. I want you to be able to live your life your way; not the way Dumbledore or the rest of the Wizarding World wants you to."

Harry blinked again, this time to stop a rush of tears that wanted to appear. He quickly stood up and, after a moment of hesitation, wrapped the older man in a hug. "Thank you, Hunter," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Hunter's arms came up and returned the hug. "No problem, kid," he answered.

He let out a sigh before stepping back. "Why don't you try and get some sleep," he suggested as his gaze flitted to the darkening sky outside the window. "You're going to need your rest. I'm going to be teaching you Occlumency tomorrow as a part of your training."

Harry grinned in anticipation. "Okay," he said as he began to walk away. "Goodnight Hunter."

"'Night, Harry," Hunter called after the teen. He looked down at the leftover food on the table and sighed to himself. 'That could've gone better,' he thought to himself. 'Then again, it could've gone a lot worse too. I expected spells to be flung around the room in all honestly.'

Hunter looked out the window at the dark sky and noticed the rising moon. "Change is coming," Hunter murmured quietly to the room. He grinned. "I honestly can't wait."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I DO NOT own any Harry Potter characters besides some OC ones that may or may not pop up. I also DO NOT own any story plots that are canon. I do, however, own the things that ARE NOT canon.

Arabella Figg, known as Mrs. Figg by the young Mister Potter, was woken up early in the morning by something she couldn't quite explain. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary that she could discern, but –

But there was something off in the air. A change Arabella couldn't see with her eyes, nor hear with her ears, but there was something undeniably different.

She had fallen asleep on her living room couch; the roaring fire was still active in her fireplace, warming her weary bones as well as the cats that had gathered all around her in the night.

She rubbed tiredly at her eyes as she sat up. A yawn escaped her lips before she stood from the couch and carefully made her way around her many cats towards the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea that could've put her back to sleep.

It was when she was about to pass her window that she noticed something out of the ordinary. The early morning light had begun to appear in the sky, and it illuminated the houses in her neighborhood.

Including Number Four, Privet Drive, a couple of houses down and across the street from her own home.

The morning light wasn't as bright as it would've been at midday, but it was bright enough to reveal the two figures standing in front of the house.

Arabella's eyes widened when she realized that the two figures were about eight to ten feet tall, with dark hooded cloaks on their silhouette.

She also noticed that they weren't actually standing in front of Mister Potter's house, but hovering in front of it.

And if those observations weren't enough to convince Arabella of what they were, even though it did, the faint frost that was starting to creep over her window certainly did.

"Dementors," Arabella breathed in shock. "Oh, Merlin!"

She left her window and quickly rushed towards her fireplace. She grabbed a handful a Flu Powder that was hanging on the side before she threw it into the fire. "Headmaster's Office!"

She kneeled in front of the fire, ignored the slight pain in her knees, and stuck her head in.

Albus Dumbledore's office looked the same as it always had, with the snoozing portraits on the walls, some of them awake and peering at her in confusion and irritation, and odd trinkets dotted various points of the room.

But in her blind panic, Mrs. Figg saw none of it. "Albus!" she called frantically. "Albus! Please, I need your help!"

It was only a moment later when the man she was calling for came into view, his nightclothes a horrid yellow color. "Arabella, my dear," Albus said worriedly. "Whatever is the matter? It's nearing seven in the morning over here."

"Albus, I need you to come through," she pleaded desperately. "Please. There are a couple of Dementors here in front of Harry's house."

She missed the flash of satisfaction in the Headmaster's eyes, too busy panicking about Harry and his family. She didn't particularly care about Petunia and Vernon Dursley, not to mention their horrible son Dudley, but Harry was a dear boy, and she worried about him.

"I am sure that young Mister Potter can take care of the Dementors on his own, Arabella," Albus said in a soothing voice, trying to calm the clearly anxious woman.

But Arabella glared at him, taking him by surprise. "Albus, if he uses magic, he'll be charged with Improper Use of Magic and dragged to the Ministry for a hearing since it won't be the first time magic has happened in that house," she ranted at him. "And I can't do anything because I am a squib, so you're the only one who can do something!"

"Now Arabella," Albus tried to soothe her, inwardly cursing the wrench that had been thrown into his plans, "you know that-"

But whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a high pitched scream.

Mrs. Figg whipped her head around in the direction of the scream, and her eyes went wide. "Mrs. Dursley," she said, her voice horrified in realization. She turned back to the Headmaster. "Albus, there isn't much time! You have to come through now!"

Albus gritted his teeth. 'Damn this observant woman,' he cursed silently to himself. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Arabella wasn't supposed to notice anything until Harry was doing magic to defend himself.

The aged Headmaster plastered a fake genial smile upon his face. "Don't worry, my dear," he said as she moved out the way for him to come through. "I'll handle it."

Mrs. Figg sighed in relief as she watched Albus head towards her front door to go and help Harry. 'Good thing I was able to reach him,' she thought to herself. 'I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't noticed anything until it was too late?'

(oooOOOooo)

Albus headed outside into the neighborhood, absentmindedly disillusioned himself as he went so not to attract attention. Well, more attention than what was attracted by Petunia's scream.

As he hurried forward, he took in the commotion. Petunia Dursley was slumped on the ground, a Dementor hovered above her and about to administer the Kiss. The other one was about to enter the house through the open door that Petunia had left open when she came outside.

Albus quickly pointed his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" A silvery phoenix burst from the end of his wand and quickly made its way towards the Dementors. The one hovering above Petunia was swiftly knocked aside by the charm and the one lurking in the doorway backed away from the house as the phoenix swooped in and spread its wings, blocking the door. It grew brighter and pulsed slightly, sending the two Dementors fleeing from the home and the neighborhood entirely.

After making sure that they were truly gone, Albus hurried to the downed woman. He Obiviated the few bystanders that had come out, so they forget what had occurred before making a 'suggestion' that they leave.

Once the small crowd began to disperse, Dumbledore turned his attention to the shivering woman on the ground.

"Petunia, dear?" Albus questioned. He made his voice as soft as he could, trying not to let the anger he was feeling show in his voice and on his face. He let go of the Disillusionment. "Petunia? Are you alright?"

"What did you do?"

Albus turned to see Vernon Dursley peering outside from the doorway of his house, his son Dudley inspecting out from behind him. Vernon was squinting at Albus' bright clothes, and both of them seemed to be shaking and looked paler than the last time Albus saw them. 'The Dementors must've affected them as well,' he thought to himself.

"What did you do to my wife?" Vernon repeated, his voice angrier than it was before. "What happened to her?"

Albus raised his hand in placation. "I've done nothing to her, Mister Dursley," he said. "However, it would be best if we get your wife inside. We don't need the neighbors witnessing this, do we?"

Knowing the Dursley's need to appear normal, he wasn't surprised by the immediate agreement, even if he was eyed warily as the man moved to pick up his wife. Albus followed the man inside, his son keeping a considerable distance from the old wizard.

Albus looked around the house as he walked in. 'Where is Harry?' he wondered. 'He would've heard his aunt screaming and, knowing the hero complex the boy has, I expected him to come rushing to help.'

As he entered the living room where Vernon placed his wife on the couch, he asked, "Might I inquire as to where young Harry is?"

Vernon grunted as he maneuvered Petunia into a comfortable setting. "Not here."

A shot of anxiety ran through the Headmaster as he heard those words. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep his panic down. "Could you please elaborate on what you said, please?"

But Vernon shook his head. "Nuh-uh," he snapped. "I'm not saying another damn word until you fixed what happened to my wife!"

Albus grit his teeth in frustration at being denied his answers. He considered just using Legilimens on the man in front of him but decided against it; Vernon Dursley might be the man of the house, but it was his wife who was in charge of the relationship. She had the answers he needed, so he played nice and acquiesced.

He grabbed some pieces of chocolate that he stuffed in his pockets, just in case it was Harry who was affected and tried to feed it to the still-shivering woman.

"Hold it," Vernon intervened. "What's that stuff you're giving her?"

"It's just chocolate, my good sir," Albus said with a smile.

The other man didn't smile back. "How in the hell is chocolate supposed to help my wife?!" he glowered. Dudley, who was trying to hide behind his father although he was failing spectacularly, eyed the chocolate hungrily but made no move to take it.

Albus fought the urge to roll his eyes. 'Muggles,' he thought derisively. 'You try and help them, and yet you're still regarded with suspicion.'

Aloud, he said, "The thing that attacked your wife made her see her darkest memories and sucked all the warmth from her body. The chocolate will help her regain that warmth and stop her shivering."

Vernon glared at him a second longer before he jerked his head in a nod. "Fine. Do it. But I'm watching you."

Albus refrained from snarling 'I fought men whose shoes you aren't good enough to lick. You don't scare me, Dursley.' However, he did plaster a benevolent smile on his face and did as he was 'told.'

(No one told Albus Dumbledore what to do. No one.)

A few minutes after Petunia ingested the chocolate, the shivers began to taper off and her skin began to lose its paleness. Her eyes lost their faraway look and focused on Albus, who was right in front of her. She took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. She didn't say anything.

"Petunia?" Vernon asked. "Pet, are you alright?"

Petunia didn't answer, her gaze not wavering from the aged wizard in front of her.

"Was it you?" she inquired, her voice shaky. "Did you do this to me?"

"No no, of course not, Petunia dear," Albus reassured her. "It was a creature from my world."

Petunia scowled. "Typical. The freak isn't even here, and he is still getting us in trouble."

Albus went white as he heard her words. "Petunia," he said urgently. "Your husband also said that Harry is gone. Did he go visit a friend?"

Dudley, who had been quiet the whole time the Headmaster was in his house, snorted loudly. "As if that freak has any friends," he said snidely.

Albus began to get a bad feeling. "Petunia," he said, the fear in his voice not showing on his face.

The woman merely rolled his eyes. "He doesn't live with us anymore," she said dismissively. "The boy came back and said he got a letter from someone that turned out to be a family member. Said he could go live with them instead of staying here with us. Personally, I was glad to be rid of the little monster. Him leaving means the freakishness will leave too."

She snorted a little. "A fat lot of good its done us if we're still being attacked by monsters of *that* world."

Dumbledore didn't acknowledge her, his mind a whirl as it processed the new information. 'He left? That foolish, *idiotic* boy! He has no other relatives! And even if he did, he cannot go with them! He needs to be *here*! I've told that brat time and time again how important it is for him to remain here! How dare he disobey me! How dare he go off with some stranger!' he fumed to himself.

Vernon, after making sure that his wife was okay, turned a glare onto Albus. "Okay, you've got your answers. Now get out of my house."

Albus ignored him. "Harry doesn't have any other relatives," he insisted. "He lied to you. When I find him, he'll have to come back."

Petunia narrowed her eyes. "No he bloody well won't," she hissed. "Leave him with the person who took him in. We're done with that...that *boy*. Don't bring him back here, my family has had enough!"

The aged wizard fought the urge to glower at the infuriating woman in front of him. It didn't matter what she and her family wanted. For the time being, Harry absolutely needed to be with his relatives. The fact that they were negligent to the point of abusive helped Albus keep his weapon sturdy. He didn't need a soft weapon in a fight against Voldemort.

Albus assumed an innocent expression, slightly leaning towards pleading. "At least tell me the name Harry had given you," he said. "The person who had supposedly taken him in?"

The older woman's scowl deepened. "He didn't say."

Vernon started walking towards Dumbledore, his rage making him braver than usual against a magic folk. "You need to leave. Now!" he barked out, trying to tower over the Headmaster.

Albus rose to his feet. "I'll leave," he said in placation to the angered man. He looked at Petunia. "Would you at least tell me if it was a man or a woman?"

Petunia scowled as she gathered her son into her arms. "I don't have to tell you anything," she seethed. "Get out of my house. Now! Before I call the police!"

'As if the police could do anything to *me*,' he couldn't help but think.

He locked eyes with Petunia, and this time didn't hold back. He plunged into her mind and searched ruthlessly to find the memory he seeks. He found it, finally, and almost cursed aloud when he pulled away.

The woman was telling the truth, unfortunately. The boy didn't mention a name or where he was going. For Merlin's sake, he didn't even say if it was a man or a woman!

"I shall take my leave now," he said. He spun on his heel abruptly and made his way out of the house, ignoring the shouts behind him.

He made his way back towards Arabella's place, intending on using her Floo Network.

'Damn that brat for interfering with my plans,' he thought with a scowl.

Albus Dumbledore had things to do. And quickly.

(oooOOOooo)

Molly Weasley was bustling around the kitchen in Grimmauld Place, finishing cooking breakfast for its occupants.

Besides her, the only people awake were her husband and Sirius, both of whom were sitting at the table. Arthur was focusing his attention on a book while Sirius had his arms folded on the table and was resting his head on them, a vacant look in his eyes as he stared ahead.

In the kitchen, Molly finally finished the food and piled them onto plates. She waved her wand, and they floated to the table and arranged themselves accordingly. She then walked in herself, carrying a pitcher of pumpkin juice in one hand and a pitcher of coffee in the other, before going back for cups and mugs.

Sirius lost his vacant-eyed look to eye the food hungrily. Spending thirteen years in Azkaban without any real food made him look forward to everything Molly cooked. Seeing all the bacon, scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes and mushrooms, sausages, and buttered toast made his stomach rumble and his mouth water.

But before he could grab a plate and start loading food onto it, Molly's voice stopped him.

"Sirius, go and wake everyone and tell them that breakfast is ready," she said as she sat down, piling food onto a plate. "We still have much cleaning to do."

Sirius stared at her mulishly. "Why do I have to do it?" he scowled. "You could go up and tell them yourself."

Molly scowled at the man. "I had just spent the last half hour cooking breakfast for everyone; the least you could do is get everybody down here to eat it! Need I remind you that it's *your* ancestral home that we are taking the time to clean?"

Sirius scowled angrily at the woman but moved to do as she said. He certainly didn't feel like getting into a screaming match with her, especially since the noise would wake his mother, and that'll lead to a screaming match with her as well.

(There was only so much screaming and yelling he could take. Listening to the screaming of his fellow inmates while in Azkaban was more than enough, thanks.)

As he walked away, Molly turned to her husband. "That man," she fumed. "Treating me the way he does, *where* in Merlin's name is his manners?!"

Arthur sighed. "Molly, you need to remember that Sirius is a grown man. You cannot boss him around like he's one of our children."

His wife flushed in embarrassment at the reprimand.

"Also," Arthur continued, "the man has been in Azkaban for *thirteen years*. His mental state isn't the best right now, so cut him a little slack."

Molly flushed even darker and focused her attention to her food, not saying anything.

Arthur fought the urge to sigh. 'Merlin knows I love my wife,' he thought to himself. 'But even I am not blind to her faults.'

Molly was a caring woman, but frequently could come across as overbearing. She also tried to take control of situations if she felt it was needed. Her husband typically lets her, but only within their own home. She needs to learn how to let someone else take the reins once in a while.

The sound of footsteps overhead brought Arthur out of his musings, and Molly glanced up from her food.

A few moments later, the twins stumbled into the room, blurry-eyed and mouths opened wide to let out yawns. "Morning, Mum, Dad," they muttered simultaneously.

"Good morning, boys," Molly replied as she stood. She waved them towards the chairs. "Sit, sit! Hurry up and eat, you're both as skinny as Bowtruckles!"

The twins rolled their eyes in tandem as they sat down and began piling their plates, not answering their mother's words. Molly let out a noise of frustration at their answer, or lack of one, but was distracted by the influx of the other teens with Sirius accompanying them.

Ron was still sleepy, evident by the way his eyelids kept coming down half-mast over his eyes and his head slipping off his hand after he sat down.

Ginny was still sleepy as well, but she was alert enough to start gathering some food to place on her plate, yawns escaping her mouth every thirty seconds.

Out of all of them, Hermione was the least tired. She had yawned a bit when she first walked in, but now was eating her food enthusiastically.

Molly was moving about, pouring drinks for everyone (Pumpkin Juice for the kids and coffee for herself, Arthur, and Sirius) when the fireplace flared and out stepped Albus Dumbledore.

"Headmaster!" Molly exclaimed in shock, setting down the coffee pitcher. Arthur and Sirius were staring at the wizened wizard in confusion while the teens had wide eyes. "What a pleasant surprise! Please, have a seat, you can have some breakfast while you're here."

Albus smiled, although it seemed a little strained from what the older woman could tell. "Thank you for your generous offer Molly, but I'm afraid this isn't the time; I've come with rather dire news."

"Oh?" Arthur straightened in his seat. "Did something happen?"

The teens all leaned forward, eager to hear about something first hand, and not from Fred and Goerge's extendable ears.

"I'm sorry to say something did," the Headmaster admitted. "Someone who was keeping an eye on Harry for me floo called my office to inform me that dementors were attacking his home."

"Oh, dear Merlin!" Molly exclaimed, her hands coming up to cover her mouth in shock.

"Is Harry alright?" the twins asked in unison, concern written all over their faces. Hermione and Ginny were mimicking Mrs. Weasley and Ron stared at Albus with his jaw dropped.

Albus sighed. "When I went to drive the dementors away, I asked his aunt why Mister Potter didn't try to get rid of them; knowing him as I do, he would've thought he'd jump right in to help."

"That's true," Hermione agreed, Ginny and Ron nodding on either side of her.

"Well, what did she say?" Molly demanded. "Is he sick?"

"I'm sorry to say that the reality is much more complicated than that," Albus said, a frown tugging at his lips. "His aunt told me that Harry doesn't live with them anymore."

"WHAT?" Molly, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny exclaimed loudly.

"FILTHY MUDBLOODS AND DIRTY HALF-BLOODS LITTERING MY HOME! SCUM! PESTS! IMPURITIES EVERYWHERE!"

Sirius cursed before leaping to his feet, running to subdue the portrait of his mother. Molly and Hermione looked a little embarrassed about yelling loud enough awaken Walburga's picture, while Ron and Ginny were still looking shocked at the news Albus had dropped.

"Professor," Ginny began, ignoring Sirius' voice as he shouted at his screaming mother, "what did you mean when you said Harry doesn't live with his family?"

"Harry's aunt informed me that Harry got a letter from someone who claimed to be a relative," Albus answered. "He then went to go live with them."

"Harry doesn't have any more relatives," Sirius interjected, having come back into the room in time to hear the Headmaster's words. "James didn't have any siblings, aunts, or uncles."

"And that is why this news is so dire," Albus said gravelly. "Someone has tricked Harry into going with them under the guise of being a long lost relative."

"Are you actually sure Harry doesn't have any more relatives?" Fred challenged.

"Yeah, Harry doesn't trust people easily," George stated. "The person that Harry went with could actually be a relative you don't know about."

Albus shook his head. "No, I am quite sure," he insisted. "I checked when I placed him with his mother's relatives. Besides Sirius and Sirius' cousins - the Malfoy's - Harry has no other living relatives."

Molly wrung her hands in worry. "Do you know who he went with?" she asked desperately. "Their name, at least?"

Albus shook his head. "Unfortunately, Harry didn't tell his aunt their name, or even what gender they are," he said, real frustration in his voice. "And she has no idea where they went."

"Could it have been a Death Eater?" Ron asked, his face pale.

"Unlikely," the olden wizard replied. "Harry knows most of the Death Eaters' faces, and Severus would have told me if Harry was in their clutches."

Ron didn't look convinced but didn't question the statement.

"There must be some way to locate them," Hermione said nervously.

"I would like for you four to write to him," Albus responded eagerly, looking at Ron, Hermione, and the twins. "You too, Sirius. See if he can give any indicators about where he is or who he's with."

"Are you sure he'll answer?" Ginny asked, a little unhappy that she wasn't asked to write a letter to Harry. "What if he's being held against his will?"

"We have to at least try," Albus insisted. He turned to the Patriarch of the Weasley family. "Arthur, I want you to see if anyone is talking about it when you go in for work if that's okay?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Arthur nodded.

"I shall head back to Hogwarts," Albus said as he stared at everyone seated at the table. "I will also contact Alastor, Kingsley, and Tonks to see if they can watch Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade just in case they catch a glance of Mister Potter. Please let me know if he answers any of your letters."

Unknown to them, Albus had gone immediately back to Hogwarts after heading back to Arabella's place. There, he checked an instrument of his that let him know Harry's health, and it had shown that the boy was not harmed. Unfortunately for Albus, the tracking spells the old man placed on Harry's trunk and cloak wasn't giving him any coordinates or revealing any locations to him. Hopefully, the brat will answer his friends' inquiries, and he can get him back to his aunt and uncle.

(It doesn't matter that both Petunia and Harry will object. Harry *will* be going back to be under the protection of the blood wards. All for the greater good.)

"Of course," Molly nodded in answer to his earlier question.

He nodded his head at her. "By your leave, Molly," he said kindly before stepping back into the fireplace. "Headmaster's Office!"

And he was gone in a whirl of flames.

Arthur looked to his kids, Hermione, and Sirius. "You lot should hurry up and eat. After you send your letters off, you're still going to clean. And Ginny, you're going to start cleaning right away since you won't be writing a letter."

Hermione spoke up over Ron and Ginny's immediately protests. "I'll write to Neville too," she said, instantly silencing the two teens. "He and Harry spent a lot of time together after the end of the third task."

Ron glared down at his plate, jealousy pulsing through him. He tried to hang out with Harry as much as he could after the third task, but the messy-haired teen always disappeared when he went looking for him - only to turn up somewhere with *Neville Longbottom* of all people.

"Good idea," Molly nodded. "Well, hurry and finish eating. You've got letters to write."

(oooOOOooo)

Hunter looked at the boy sitting across from him, a small smile on his face.

He had gotten Harry up early to practice meditating in preparation for learning Occlumency. He had insisted on coming outside into the backyard, little ways in front of the greenhouse.

The weather was charming with a gentle breeze going, and Hunter thought it would help Harry relax better than being stuck inside the house all day.

And he was right; Harry had relaxed almost immediately when they first began. The young teen sat on a blanket with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees. His eyes were closed and his face eased as he tried to even out his breathing.

"Once more," Hunter said softly.

Harry nodded and breathed in deeply, holding for a few seconds, before letting it out slowly.

"Focus on clearing your mind," Hunter continued in his quiet voice. "Keep steady, even breaths."

Harry did as he was told and kept his breathing as steady as he could make it. 'In and out,' he repeated calmly to himself. 'In and out.'

He kept his eyes shut and tried to focused on his breathing and nothing else.

He didn't know how long he sat there, forcing his breathing to be even and steady, studiously emptying his mind of anything and everything, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He reflexively opened his eyes at the contact and found Hunter kneeling in front of him, his eyes warm, and the corners of his mouth tilted up in a smile.

"Good job," he said warmly. "You were able to meditate for thirty solid minutes."

"Serious?!" Harry asked in shock. "It only felt like a couple!"

Hunter let out an affectionate chuckle and mused his hair. "That's what meditation is like," he explained, his smile growing. "You're so focused on yourself that time passes by unnoticed."

"I thought that it would be harder," Harry admitted as he stood up.

"It normally is," Hunter conceded as he grabbed their blankets off the ground and handed them to the teen. "It all depends on a person's state of mind. For example, if someone is furious, they'd have an even harder time to clear their mind than someone happy."

Harry frowned in confusion. "But I *am* angry," he pointed out. "Not as much as yesterday, but I'm still mad at Dumbledore for everything. Shouldn't that have made it harder?"

Hunter let out a thoughtful noise. "That may be true in most cases," he reasoned. "But you're determined enough" - he paused before he let out a smirk - "or stubborn enough" - Harry blushed - "to keep at it until you calmed yourself down long enough to at least get started on the basics."

"Oh."

Another chuckle escaped from Hunter. "Head back inside," he said to him. "I need to check on some things in the greenhouse, then I'll make some breakfast."

Harry beamed. "Wicked," he said excitedly.

(And if Hunter had to clench his fists at the fact that the kid seemed so happy just to have more homecooked meals...well, no one had to know.)

Harry did a light jog back towards the house while Hunter made his way into his greenhouse. As soon as he entered, the regulated air of the place and the scents of the plants calming his anger down somewhat.

The sound of rustling brought a smile to his face as he walked deeper inside the glasshouse. When he came upon the source, the small smile he had bloomed into a full-blown grin. "Hello, Winky."

The House-Elf in question paused in her task before she turned and beamed up at her master. "Hello, Master Peverell, sir!" she squeaked. "Winky is just harvesting some potion ingredients, sir! Winky is being very careful and packing them away very carefully!"

Hunter smiled down at her. "Thank you, Winky," he said. "Take your time, so you don't injure yourself, okay?"

"Yes, Master Peverell, sir!" Winky nodded so hard, her ears flapped. "Winky is being cautious and will continue to be so, sir!"

"Good." Hunter wasn't really comfortable with treating Winky as his servant, but she was happier if he treated her like this. "When you get finished bagging or bottling the plants up, please label them and take them to my potions lab before you return back to Hogwarts, alright? And remember…"

"Don't let the evil Headmaster know Winky works for Master Peverell!" she said fiercely. "'Cause the bad man is trying to hurt young Master Harry and will end up destroying magic!"

"That's correct," Hunter nodded. "Thank you, Winky."

"It is no problem, Master Peverell! Winky is honored to be working for such an Ancient and Noble House," the House-Elf said enthusiastically.

"Carry on," Hunter uttered, another smile upon his face. Winky bowed to him once before he turned around and made his way back towards the house.

"Of course, Master Peverell," came the call from behind him.

Leaving Winky to her task, Hunter made his way back to Peverell Cottage with the intent of making breakfast for himself and Harry. They had gotten up early so he could instruct the messy-haired teen, so it was still early enough to have an excellent breakfast.

"Harry?" Hunter called out as he entered the house. "I'm going to start breakfast, is there anything you'd like in particular?"

His question was met with silence.

Hunter frowned. "Harry?" he called out. "Is everything okay?"

No answer.

Worry had begun to thrum through Hunter's body as he moved towards the living room.

No sign of him there.

Hunter frowned in concern before he decided to head to the teen's room, all the while wondering what was going on.

He pushed open the door and found the boy in question sitting on his bed, looking down at something in his hands.

"Harry?" Hunter asked again, stepping into the room. "Is everything okay?"

Harry's head had snapped up when Hunter said his name and turned towards the man as he came closer.

"Hunter," he said. He held out his hands. "Look."

The older man frowned as he looked down at the contents in Harry's hand. He looked up, his eyes soft. "I'm guessing Dumbledore figured out you aren't living with your relatives anymore."

There were letters in his hands from Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and the twins. "Yeah," Harry said. "That explains why they're writing to me all at once after weeks of silence," he couldn't help but add, his tone filled with bitterness.

Hunter sat beside him on the bed and wrapped an arm around him before he squeezed him in a hug. "Are you going to read them?"

Harry sighed. "Might as well," he grumbled. "It'll eat me up, wondering what they've said if I don't read it."

"I'm right here."

"I know," Harry smiled. He took a deep breath before he opened the one from Hermione. He cleared his throat before he began to read aloud:

'Dear Harry,

Oh my gosh, are you okay?! Where are you?! Headmaster Dumbledore went to check on you because he found out that Dementors were attacking your home only to discover that you weren't even there! He said that you told your aunt that you went to live with a relative.

Harry, Professor Dumbledore said that you don't have any other relatives besides your aunt, uncle, and cousin. Whoever you're with is lying to you. You have to know that. Do not trust them, they're probably just using you, just like Professor Dumbledore said.

Write back to me as soon as you can; I'm apprehensive about you.

Love, Hermione J Granger.'

Harry's gut was churning as he finished reading the letter, his chest flittering with emotion. 'Even if she was worried about me, why didn't she write to me earlier? And this letter...Dumbledore this and Dumbledore that...she really believes everything he says, doesn't she?'

A hand squeezed his shoulder and brought Harry from his thoughts. He looked up into Hunter's concerned face. "Are you okay?" he asked the teen.

Harry took another deep breath. "Not really," he admitted before he set aside Hermione's letter. The green-haired teen picked up Ron's and scanned it, not really wanting to see what the redhead had written. In truth, he doesn't trust Ron as much as he used to, and after reading Hermione's letter, he doesn't have the mental ability to read his.

"Ron's letter is kind of the same as Hermione's," Harry informed Hunter after he was finished skimming it. "The only difference is that Ron thinks that you're a Death Eater and that everything will be better once I got to where they're at."

"Ron thinks that every suspicious person is a Death Eater," Hunter deadpanned to Harry's amusement.

Harry ripped open Sirius' letter and started reading it aloud:

'Dear Harry,

Are you okay, Prongslet? Dumbledore just told us that you don't live with your relatives anymore and that you went off with some random stranger.

Why did you go with someone you don't know, Harry? I know you're smarter than that; not even James did something like that when we were your age.

What's their name? Dumbledore said that you didn't even tell your aunt whether this new "relative" was a man or a woman.

Please write back, Prongslet. We're all worried about you, especially Dumbledore.

James and Lily would want you to be safe, too.

Sincerely, Padfoot.'

Harry gaped at the letter for a good moment after he finished reading it. Then he exploded in rage. "Really?! He claims that he worries about me, but it takes Dumbledore telling him that he could to actually write?! And what was with him mentioning my dad like that?! I'm not him! I'm not going to act like him! Why does he...why…"

His rage quickly left him only to be replaced with sadness, and, to his embarrassment, tears began to gather in his eyes. "D-Dammit.." he bit out with gritted teeth.

He felt a hand cup the back of his head, and then he was pulled against a warm chest as he cried out his frustrations.

Hunter didn't say anything, merely held the teen as he cried into his chest, humming a little to try and calm him down.

It only took five minutes for Harry to cry his eyes out, but he felt better by the time he was done. "S-Sorry about that," he muttered, a blush on his cheek as he avoided eye contact with his guardian.

Hunter jostled their shoulders together. "Why don't you read the letter from Fred and George, hmm?" he suggested. "I think it'll cheer you up."

Harry smiled weakly. "Maybe."

He opened the last letter, and began to read:

'Dear Mini Marauder,

So we finally got the go-ahead to write to you regularly instead of in secret, which will make talking to you much more straightforward.

But first things first; how are you, Harry? We never really got a chance to talk to you before we all went our separate ways. What you went through would be traumatic for grown adults, let alone a fourteen-year-old boy like you, which is why we sent you a letter earlier to let you know we were thinking about you.

Dumbledore came to us earlier today, saying that you left your relatives to live with a relative. He doesn't believe that this person is your relative, however, so he asked all of us to contact you to see if you would tell us who this person is.

But we know you, Harry. If you trust this person, then that's enough for us.

Feel free to write back now that we don't have to hide anymore.

Can't wait to hear from you, little brother.

Sincerely,

Fred and George.'

Harry was smiling as he finished reading their letter. "They really are good friends," he admitted.

"That they are," Hunter agreed with a smile.

"So, what now?" Harry turned to the older man. "Dumbledore knows I'm not with my relatives anymore."

"Well first, we need to teach you Occlumency ASAP," he said as he got up to gaze out the window. "We don't need unwanted people invading the privacy of your mind."

"Also," Hunter said as he turned to face the teen, a smirk on his lips, "we have about a month before you have to go back to Hogwarts. I say that in the meantime, we mess with some heads."

Harry felt a grin growing on his face as he understood what Hunter was implying. "Let's do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I've been posting new chapters every day but, unfortunately, that will not continue. I have this story up on another site and was simply posting it here as well.
> 
> I'm glad that so many of you enjoy this story and I hope that you all stick around even though updates won't be regularly.
> 
> See you all soon! :)


	7. Chapter 7

It was around noon in the town of Little Whinging, the sun glinting off the cars driving down Privet Drive and basking the people walking the sidewalks in a comforting warmth that wasn’t as overbearing as the last couple of days. 

As a man and woman made their way down the sidewalk, they suddenly paused, their heads tilted in confusion. After a moment, they both shrugged before turning around and headed in the opposite direction, continuing their conversation as they went.

Remus smiled under the invisibility cloak Dumbledore had lent him as he watched the couple walked away from him. He had placed a Confundus Charm on himself to confuse anyone who came near him since the cloak he was borrowing wasn’t as good at hiding him as Harry’s was.

‘And speaking of Harry,’ Remus thought as he stared at the house on the other side of the street.

Number four, Privet Drive.

When Dumbledore had visited him earlier with news about Harry’s flight from his relatives’ place of residence, a cocktail of emotions had rolled through him. The first emotion he felt was a concern for Harry’s well-being. Next, he felt slightly angry about the fact that Harry was foolish enough to leave the safety of his aunt and uncle’s home for some _stranger_. And finally, he felt the determination to get Harry back to where he was best protected.

(Dumbledore had been protecting Harry in James’ and Lily’s place for the past fourteen years. He _ obviously _knew the best way to keep him safe.)

As Remus stared up at the house, his thoughts roamed the little information he had gotten about Harry’s relatives. His uncle, Vernon Dursley, was the only one who worked, although Remus didn’t know exactly where; his aunt, Petunia Dursley, as well as Lily’s sister, was a stay at home mum, much like Molly Weasley; and his cousin Dudley Dursley, went to the same school his father did. Other than that, Remus barely knew anything about Harry’s family. 

He didn’t speak about them much when Remus was teaching him the Patronus Charm, and even if Harry did talk about them, at the time, Remus was only a teacher to him and didn’t know the connection they had. But all that Remus had learned showed that they were an ordinary family; why would Harry leave them just to go live with a stranger?

(A small part of his brain started whispering about how Harry’s instant agreement to a new home was very suspicious, but Remus shoved it away.)

He took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he had to go closer to the house, but froze when an unfamiliar scent assaulted his nose. Now, smelling the scent of someone unfamiliar wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks; it was the tang of magic mixed in with it, and it was _very _potent. This person could be as strong as Albus himself.

‘This isn’t good,’ Remus thought to himself worriedly. ‘I’ll need to let Professor Dumbledore know about this straight away.’

He turned sharply on his heel and Apparated away from Privet Drive, with no sign that he was ever there.

(oooOOOooo)

Neville Longbottom was sitting at his desk in his room at Longbottom Manor, staring at a letter in his hands. 

It had come earlier in the morning, just after he had woken up. After he had seen Hermione’s name on the front, he became both confused and intrigued. After all, Hermione never wrote to him during the summer - she hardly spoke to him during the school year! So what urged her to write to him so suddenly?

Eventually, his curiosity won out and he opened the letter and read its contents. What it said had him even more confused and even a bit wary. 

He glanced down at the letter again, his eyes scanning the words once more:

_Dear Neville,_

_I wish I could say I’m writing simply to say hello, but this is not the case. _

_I’m sorry to tell you that Harry has gone missing a couple of days ago. Someone had contacted Professor Dumbledore to warm him of dementors attacking the place Harry lives. _

_After getting rid of the Dementors, Professor Dumbledore went to make sure Harry was alright - only to discover that he no longer lives there!_

_Apparently, his aunt told Professor Dumbledore that Harry announced a relative of his sent him an owl telling him he could come live with him. Harry said yes, and left to go to them. _

_Neville, Professor Dumbledore said that Harry doesn’t _have _any more relatives. Whoever wrote to him was _lying_. _

_I can’t _believe _that Harry was foolish enough to believe this person’s lies. How could he trust someone he’s never even met? After everything he has gone through, he just trusted some _stranger_! Can you believe that?!_

_Ron, Fred, George, and I are all writing to Harry on the chance that he’d write back to us. Could you please do the same? And if he does write back, could you let me know? We’re all _really _worried, especially Professor Dumbledore. _

_See you soon, Neville. _

_Love, Hermione J Granger_

Neville let out a sigh before placing the letter down and covered his face with his hands. Truth be told, he didn’t like Hermione very much. Granted, her casting the Full Body-Bind Curse on him in their first year didn’t exactly endear him to her, but the way she treated him after becoming friends with Harry and Ron wasn’t exactly friendly. 

She was only cordially polite, outright dismissive in some cases, and the ‘higher than thou’ attitude that she had in regards to the school work was supremely irritating. 

Neville knew that she was a good person, but she had yet to show it to him personally.

The stuff she wrote in her letter did concern him though. Despite not being on good terms with Hermione and Ron, Harry was a great friend to him. After their first year had ended, Harry had written to him with an apology for allowing Hermione to cast Petrificus Totalus on him and hoped that they could still be friends.

Neville, at first, had been shocked that Harry, of all people, had decided to write him, not only to apologize but to also ask if they could remain friends. He had thought himself as Harry’s friend but he had no idea that Harry thought of Neville as his friend too.

He had written back, telling him that he accepted his apology and that ‘of course they were still friends!’. When Harry hadn’t written back, Neville was worried that he had said something wrong, only for his worries to be lifted when he wrote back sometime later, explaining that he had only then received his letter but was glad that he wasn’t mad at him.

The following years at Hogwarts had only strengthened their friendship. He was there when the whole school thought Harry was Slytherin’s Heir and shunned him for it; he was there when Malfoy was telling everyone about the way he fainted in the presence of Dementors (and when he learned the reason _why _ Harry had such an extreme reaction, he had to stop himself from marching over to Malfoy and hexing his bollocks off!). He was there when almost everyone, including Ron, had thought Harry entered his name into the Goblet and were treating him harshly, _ again_, and was there for him after he came out the maze with Cedric’s dead body. 

After all of that, Neville could honestly say that Harry was his best friend. 

So hearing from Hermione that his best friend went off with a stranger worried him - but it also confused him. He knew Harry pretty well, and Harry doesn’t trust people easily. If Harry really did go with this person willingly, then that must mean he trusted them. 

Neville let out another sigh before pulling some parchment towards him and taking out a quill. He’ll write to Harry, but not just because Hermione said so. But because Harry was his best friend and he was worried about him. 

(If he gets a response from Harry, he doesn’t think he’ll tell Hermione. Something about the way she spoke in her letter rubbed him the wrong way, _ especially _the constant mentioning of Professor Dumbledore. He’s just the Headmaster, why was he involved in this?)

(oooOOOooo)

Harry was sitting in his room and on his bed, his legs crossed beneath him. 

His eyes were shut and his arms resting in his lap as he breathed in and out in steady beats. 

He was once again meditating, this time for two reasons. 

The first reason being that learning Occlumency was extremely important, and meditation helped in that regard. 

The second reason was to get his emotions under control.

Hunter had said that being able to Occlude also helped with controlling his emotions so they don’t get the best of him, especially when he’s angry. 

So, after reading the letters from his ‘worried’ friends (Fred and George weren’t included in the sarcasm) and from Sirius, and pacing agitatedly in his room for a while, he opted to simply sit on top of his bed to meditate so he could focus on what to do next. 

He was seriously tempted to just send back replies to Hermione, Ron, and Sirius with the same three words on each note; _ Go to hell! _

But the more rational side of his brain kicked in and he refrained. 

And now, hours later after careful meditation and rational thinking, his anger had calmed down significantly. He was still mad at them for only reaching out to see where he was instead of just checking in on him, but he was no longer a simmering ball of rage.

(Mostly.)

He breathed in deeply one last time before he let it out slowly and opened his eyes. 

His eyes stared at his bedspread without really seeing anything as his thoughts raced. 

‘If I don't write to them, then they'll think something is wrong and that I need ‘rescuing’ or something even more ridiculous,’ Harry thought. ‘But if I do write back, then they won't leave it alone until they know everything from where I am to who Hunter is. I wonder, which is the lesser of the two evils?’

In the end, he decided to write back to them anyways. He _did _want to write to Fred and George after all. ‘Besides,’ he thought. ‘If I write only to them, Mrs. Weasley might demand to see their letter. Or worse, Dumbledore himself.’

He sighed and got off his bed and made his way towards the desk, the afternoon sun shining outside the window. He eyed the opened letters sitting ‘innocently’ to the side and couldn’t help but glare at them. He took out his wand and grabbed all but the one from Fred and George. He tossed them into the air and pointed his wand before exclaiming, “Incendio!”

The letters from Hermione, Ron, and Sirius went up in flames and were turned to ash before their remains hit the floor.

Harry let a small smirk appear on his face briefly before he became serious again and he turned back towards his desk.

After sitting down, he grabbed a sheet of parchment and dabbed his quill into the inkwell. But before he could begin to write, a tapping noise startled him enough that he dropped his quill. Looking up, he saw a regal-looking owl flapping outside his window. It rapped its beak against Harry’s window once again before the green-eyed teen got up to open it.

The owl flew in as soon as the window was opened and settled itself upon Harry’s desk. A letter was clutched in its beak.

“I wonder who you belong to,” Harry murmured to himself as he approached the sharped-eyed avian. Its feathers were dark brown with small golden spots surrounding its eyes. As soon as Harry took the letter from it, the owl flew off through the open window.

“Huh,” Harry said in surprise, the letter still gripped in his hands. “I guess they’re not waiting for a response. Or they don’t expect me to respond at all.”

Curiosity now fully formed, Harry opened the letter. His eyes widened as he read its contents.

_Dear Harry,_

_Heya Harry! I am sorry I haven’t written to you before now, I was really busy; These past few weeks Gran had been teaching me how to manage the Longbottom Estate for when I become of age and we finally finished with everything a little while ago._

_But that’s not important._

_I admit that I am not writing to simply say hello. Hermione had written to me, telling a story about how you went off with a stranger and left your relatives’ home to go live with them._

_She claims that this person was lying to you and conned you into going with them._

_However, I’ve gotten to know you these past four years, Harry. I’d like to think I know you well enough to understand that you don’t trust easily, especially adults._

_If you trust this person, then that’s good enough for me. Just trust your instincts as you’ve always had. And know that I’m on your side like I’ve always been._

_Write me back as soon as you can._

_Your Friend, Neville Longbottom_

Harry couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he finished Neville’s letter.

Unlike Ron and Hermione, the Longbottom Heir has never distrusted Harry or expected him to be something he wasn't. He trusted the boy completely and wasn't afraid to speak his mind when he was with him.

If he had said something in front of Hermione that contradicted something she read, Harry would have had to listen to her telling him how _wrong _he was and where he could find the book with the _correct _answer. 

(Sometimes her love of books annoyed even him.)

Ron, on the other hand, tended to become jealous and green-eyed whenever Harry's fame and wealth were brought up. It was how he believed that Harry had entered himself in the Triwizard Tournament.

(Harry doesn't understand how Ron doesn't realize that he’d give up all he had if it meant having a caring family like his.)

(He loves both of his friends, but he wasn’t blind to their faults.)

Neville, on the other hand, was his friend without any judgment and always stuck by his side.

He didn’t need to go and ask Hunter if Neville could be trusted. 

Harry already knew he could be.

(oooOOOooo)

Back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione sat on her bed in her room that she shared with Ginny, her teeth worrying her lip. 

She and the others had sent their letters to Harry earlier that day and had been anxiously awaiting a reply back. 

‘Oh, I hope he’s alright,’ Hermione thought. ‘Going off to live with some stranger as he did. I hope whoever they are haven’t harmed him.’

She was almost sick with concern, and she knew she wasn't the only one. Mrs. Weasley has been cooking almost obsessively after Mr. Weasley left for work with Ginny helping her, Sirius was sulking in the attic with Buckbeak, Ron stayed in the room he was supposed to share with Harry, and even the twins were looking morose whenever they stepped out of their room.

(A part of Hermione wondered when they got so close to Harry to be worrying as much as she and Ron did, but she always shoved those thoughts away.)

There was nothing to distract herself with. She had already finished her summer homework, and they haven't been to Diagon Alley to shop for that year’s school books yet, so there was nothing new to read. Plus, Sirius had said the house’s library was off-limits because most of the books were cursed. 

So, Hermione was stuck doing nothing but worry about Harry the whole day. 

Just when Hermione was about to get up to start pacing, the door to her room opened and Ginny’s head peeked in. 

“Hermione, come quick!” the redhead said urgently. “Hedwig is here with a letter for you, Ron, Sirius, and the twins.”

“Really?” Hermione gasped as she jumped up.

“Yes!” Ginny exclaimed impatiently. “Now come on! I want to see what he wrote to you guys.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Hermione followed Ginny down the stairs and into the dining room to see Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Ron, Fred, and George gathered at the table, a pile of letters on the surface.

Hermione frowned as she sat down. “Where’s Hedwig?”

“She didn’t stay,” Ron answered grumpily. Ron was in the room when Hedwig arrived, waiting for the food his mother was making, along with the twins. The owl simply dropped off the letters, nipped at the fingers of Fred and George when they reached out to pet her and flew off when Ron leaned forward to pet her as well.

Mrs. Weasley sighed before leaning forward. “Well, let's see what he wrote to you all,” she said, hiding her apprehension as she passed them the letters that were addressed to them.

Hermione’s hands were shaking when she accepted her letter from Mrs. Weasley. She was so nervous to see what Harry had written her. ‘Would he be asking for help?’ She couldn’t help but wonder. ‘Would the person who took Harry have hurt him? Is he okay?’

The sound of rustling parchment brought Hermione out of her thoughts to see everyone else opening their letters and she hastily did the same. Her eyes scanned the letter and she frowned. It was a lot shorter than she thought it’d be.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thanks for being worried about me enough to write to me. But your worry is unnecessary. I am fine and my guardian is taking good care of me._

_You might not believe me, but Dumbledore is wrong. My guardian _is _related to me, even if he isn’t a close relative._

_Thanks for worrying, but I’m fine._

_Harry_

Hermione’s frown deepened as she reread the letter. ‘That was...awfully short,’ she thought to herself. Ron, who was next to her was frowning as well. A quick peek at his letter showed her that it was worded exactly the same as hers with only a few differences.

“That’s weird,” she murmured to herself as she compared the two letters. “Why would he write these?”

A little ways away, Sirius was frowning down at his own letter.

_Dear Padfoot,_

_I am fine. The _reason _ I went with the ‘random stranger’ as you say, is because they’re related to me and because I _ wanted to_. _

_I’m not in any danger, but thanks for writing anyways._

_Talk to you soon._

_Harry_

“That’s it?” Sirius asked aloud. “That’s all Harry writes?”

“What?” Mrs. Weasley moved forward. “What did he write?”

Sirius angrily waved his letter around. “Harry said that he’s fine and that he went with that stranger because he wanted to and because they’re related. They’re _not_! James didn’t have any other relatives and Harry was staying with Lily’s! Why is Harry listening to a stranger!”

“A stranger?” Mrs. Weasley repeated. “You mean Harry didn’t tell you who they are? None of you?” She directed her second question to everyone else.

Hermione shook her head. “No, he just called them his guardian and that he’s a relative, just not a close one.”

“In the letter to me, he said that his guardian wasn’t a Death Eater,” Ron added unhappily.

Mrs. Weasley sigh as she placed a hand over her face. “Dear Merlin, she muttered. 

Fred and George were hardly paying attention to the others, their eyes still glued to their letter. Because, as it turned out, theirs was different than the others.

_Dear Gred and Forge,_

_You guys have no idea how happy it made me that you two tried to get in touch even though Dumbledore said not to. And yes, I did get your letter._

_The person I am with isn’t a random stranger, he really is related to me. And, again, yes, the ‘stranger’ is a he. His name is Hunter. I can’t tell you his last name, at least not yet. I can’t tell Ron, Hermione, or Padfoot Hunter’s name because they’ll just turn around and tell Dumbledore, and I _ DO NOT _ trust him. You guys shouldn’t either._

_I’m glad you guys trust me that much. I trust you guys too, which was why I told you Hunter’s name. You guys can trust him too, I swear on my life._

_I am safe. I promise._

_I can’t wait to hear from you guys again._

_Your Little Brother, _

_Harry_

Fred and George couldn’t stop the smiles of relief after they read Harry’s words.

He was safe.

He was happy.

That’s all that mattered.

However, their smiles faded when they both glanced up and observed the exchanges between Sirius and their mum while the others spoke amongst themselves.

“They can’t know,” Fred whispered to his twin. “Harry is right; if we let them know they’ll just tell Dumbledore.”

“I know,” George murmured back as he observed them as well. “We didn’t need Harry to tell us not to trust Dumbledore. They can’t know what he told us.”

“I know,” Fred agreed as he folded the letter back up. “First chance we get, we’ll burn it.”

It was at that moment that Ginny turned towards them. “Hey,” she called out, getting everyone’s attention, “what did Harry write to you two?”

They both shrugged. “Nothing much,” George said offhandedly.

Fred nodded. “Just said that he was fine.”

“Thanked us for writing.”

“Said he was with his relative.”

“He’ll see us soon.”

“Thanked us for being worried.”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Mrs. Weasley threw her hands up. “Thanks, you two. I’ll finish making dinner so guys can eat. Sirius, you might want to write to the Headmaster and let him know what has happened.”

As Sirius nodded in agreement, the twins exchanged glances.

They made the right call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things:
> 
> I don't want to make Hermione the bad guy. Or at least, I don't want to bash her. She made mistakes and needs to learn the consequences of them but I don't want to necessarily make her a bad guy in this story.
> 
> And another thing. In this story, Harry and Neville have a closer relationship than they do in canon, which will be explained more in later chapters. 
> 
> And finally, Harry does not hate Hermione, Ron, or Sirius. He is angry at them for more than just not writing to him, which will also be explained in later chapters.
> 
> I hope you all liked it and can guarantee some interesting interactions next chapter!
> 
> (No flames please!)


	8. Chapter 8

Albus couldn't help but sigh as he placed his head in his hands. He was in his office at Hogwarts and had been trying in vain to figure out ways to track down Harry Potter.

None of the usual spells had worked. Every locator spell Albus knew, every tracking potion that was known to him, even some that the Ministry has banned ages ago, had failed.

It was becoming clear to Albus that whoever had Harry was keeping him behind secure wards and possibly had made their location unplottable on a map.

"Of all times for the brat to run away," the Headmaster said to himself, unable to keep the words in. "Voldemort is back. His Death Eaters are once again on the move. This is NOT the time for a petty teenage rebellion. The boy needs to be protected until the time is right to strike the mortal blow against Tom. He _knew _he needed to stay with his aunt and uncle. I thought I had trained him better than that!"

To make matters even worse, he had received bad news yesterday evening from Sirius and Remus. The Black heir had sent a letter saying that Harry had written him and his friends back but still didn't give any clues as to where he was or who his mysterious 'relative' was.

The fact that Mister Potter called this stranger his 'guardian' also worried Albus. Besides the Dursleys, no one other than Sirius and the Malfoys had any legal right to him (except for Andromeda and her family, but he doubted the Ministry would allow them custody of Harry Potter, especially if Narcissa and her family speak up). There was no word about them trying to gain custody.

'Most likely a slip of the tongue,' Albus had first thought when he read Sirius' letter, ignoring as he did so the sliver of doubt that crept down his spine.

The bad news he had received from Remus was equally troubling. The man had arrived at Hogwarts around the same time Albus had received Sirius' letter. In fact, he had just finished reading the disturbing missive when Remus had rushed into his office with his face pale and worried.

The werewolf had reported sensing a powerful magical signature right across the street from Harry's place of residence.

'Whoever took Mister Potter must've watched the house a long while for their magic to be condensed in such a way,' Albus mused to himself. 'Especially long enough for Remus to mistake that person as someone powerful like myself.'

The Headmaster sighed once again. "But this person still managed to take Mister Potter right out from under me," he remarked aloud, his voice laced with frustration. "They are obviously a cunning individual if they were able to get the one over on _me_."

The portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses that hung in the office watched as Albus became frustrated at his lack of resources.

Phineas Black was practically grinning as he sat in his portrait, and his eyes were glinting with malicious glee as he watched the 'great and wonderful' Albus Dumbledore fret over his carefully laid plans.

'Ha!' he thought triumphantly. 'I hope whoever this 'mysterious person' is will continue to thwart you, you meddlesome old bastard.'

"No," Albus continued to think aloud. "No, this will not do at all. The boy _must_ show up sooner or later. Maybe if I write to him myself, remind him of the many people counting on him to bring down Voldemort, he'll see sense."

The aged Headmaster smiled to himself. "Yes, I think I'll do exactly that," he mused. "The brat's hero complex will be my ally once again."

(oooOOOooo)

Harry sat at his desk in his room at Peverell Cottage, his summer homework out in front of him.

With his stuff no longer being locked up, he didn't have to wait until being on the Hogwarts Express to rush and do his homework. Since now he could do his homework in his room like a regular teen, he will actually have a chance of getting a grade higher than an 'Acceptable' when he turns it in on the first day of classes. He was actually pretty excited to see how he'll do this time.

(A part of his brain lamented on the fact he got so excited for something so simple as just doing his homework in the daylight. Stupid Dursleys.)

He was halfway through writing an essay for Transfiguration when he heard his door open. Harry turned and smiled. "Hey, Hunter."

Hunter had woken him up early that morning once again for Occlumency lessons before cooking an excellent breakfast for the two of them.

The older man had said they had some things to do that day, which was why he didn't start teaching Harry anything new; he was saving that for tomorrow.

"Hello, Harry," Hunter said. "Are you ready to go?"

"Sure," the teen shrugged as he stood. He made sure to grab his wand and stow it in his back pocket before he hurried after Hunter as the man left the room. "Where are we first going anyway?"

"Gringotts."

"Gringotts?"

"Yep," Hunter grinned as they stopped in front of the fireplace. "We'll be going there to get something important done, and then there are some things we need to pick up in Diagon Alley."

"Oh," Harry replied as Hunter grabbed a pouch off the fireplace mantle that was filled with Floo Powder.

"Before we go, there's something you need to know," Hunter said seriously. His green eyes bored into Harry's own as he tried to convey how vital his next words were. "No doubt, Dumbledore will have at least one person watching Diagon Alley just in case you happen to 'escape' from me."

Despite the importance of the situation, Harry couldn't stop his snort at Hunter's use of quotation marks.

The man's lips twitched in amusement. "While we're outside in Diagon Alley, I'll need you to stick close to me. Depending on who's there, they might try and Apparate you away as soon as they see you. For your _safety_," he said, the last word uttered sarcastically.

Harry couldn't stop the shiver that racked his body at the thought of being taken away from Hunter's protection, not to mention the man himself. "What about the shops?" he asked. "Do you want me to stick close to you while we're there, too?"

"I would prefer if you remained in my sight, but it isn't necessary if you don't want to," Hunter conceded. "All the shops have Anti-Apparition charms to prevent anyone from just picking something up and Apparating out of there without paying. If they aim to take you, they'll have to get you out of the shop, and I'm pretty sure you can raise enough hell to stall them long enough for me to get there."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat before he nodded in understanding. Discussing the possibility of getting kidnapped as though it were the weather was what Harry hated about his life. That he was treated special and above everyone else all because his mum did something that allowed him to live.

Hunter saw that the topic made Harry uncomfortable and regretted that it was necessary to say the words. But the Wizarding World always shoved Harry into the spotlight, whether it was for good or ill, and now he had a target on his back. Whether it was a good thing or a bad one, Harry Potter was a celebrity.

(Almost everyone had celebrated the defeat of Voldemort and was always slightly happier on Halloween, the day it happened, but hardly anyone, except a select few, gave more thought to the fact that Harry was orphaned that night. As if it was a minimal detail that didn't matter in the big picture. It disgusted him.)

Hunter held out the pouch of Floo Powder towards the teen. "Here," he said. "Go to the Leaky Cauldron; I'll be right behind you."

Harry clenched his jaw and gave a nod before he reached out and took a handful. He threw it into the flames and watched as the crackling fire went from a mixture of orange, red, and yellow, to its brilliant green color.

He strode into the flames and, after making sure not to inhale any smoke, declared firmly, "The Leaky Cauldron."

The green flames swirled around him, and he shut his eyes when he began to see other grates rush past him sickeningly fast.

He forgot how much he disliked Floo Travel.

After what felt like forever but was probably only a few seconds, he felt his feet slam firmly onto solid ground, and he warily opened his eyes after his eyelids were no longer tinged in green.

He took in the scene of The Leaky Cauldron as he stepped out of the fireplace. As usual, there was hardly anyone there, and Tom was behind the bar as usual. He and some others had glanced up when Harry arrived, but Tom merely smiled at him before returning to his task of wiping down the counter.

The others who had glanced at him were openly staring before they leaned over to whisper to their neighbor.

(Harry was grateful to those who just ignored him.)

The glasses-wearing teen only had enough time to frown at the gawkers before the fire roared in the fireplace behind him, and Hunter stepped out smoothly, his face a calm mask.

"Let us be on our way, Harry," Hunter said smoothly, ignoring the looks sent his way.

He placed a hand on Harry's back and guided him towards the end of the room where the entrance to Diagon Alley was located.

When they finally entered the bustling shopping district, Harry couldn't help but go tense as he remembered Hunter's warning. His eyes began darting this way and that, looking to see if anyone were looking at them suspiciously.

Unfortunately, as the two made their way towards Gringotts, more and more people recognized who Harry was and began to regard him with glaring eyes and deep frowns. They moved away from Harry, and consequently Hunter too, as they walked past them as if being close to the two was dangerous.

But when Harry had glanced up at Hunter, worried about the possibility of being shouted/cursed at in public, he caught a glimpse of a steely glint in the man's eyes that he hadn't seen before, a sort of vague promise lurking in his gaze.

Hunter's face was still set in its neutral expression, his posture was yet relaxed as they walked down the street, but his eyes had darkened from their green color to an almost black hue.

Hunter didn't glare, didn't approach anyone who was, but when it looked as if someone was going to walk up to them, Hunter locked gazes with the man.

To Harry's surprise, the man went completely ashen and stumbled back. The man didn't look over again.

If Hunter could do that to someone with just a look, Harry wondered what he'd look like well and truly _angry_. That part of his mind shuddered at the implications while the rest of him just took it in stride.

No one dared to approach the duo after that, and although some people still sent Harry some dark looks, they were left alone during their trek towards Gringotts.

Hunter nodded his head in respect towards the goblins on either side of the bronze doors, something Harry noticed had the two widen their eyes with apparent shock before he led the teen inside.

The Wizarding Bank was as crowded as it was the last time Harry was there, long lines in front of the counters where even more goblins were seated behind. It wasn't loud enough to mask their footsteps as they walked in, and the echoing sound made Harry shrink in on himself self-consciously.

Hunter used the hand that still rested on Harry's back to guide the teen forward.

Harry's surprise only grew when Hunter led him towards the front of one of the lines, bypassing everyone.

There were a few angry mutterings as they passed, especially when a few people recognized Harry, but Hunter soldiered on until he stood in front.

"I need to speak with Barlor about matters of grand importance," Hunter asserted strongly to the goblin behind the counter, interrupting the wizard who was already speaking with him.

The man that Hunter interrupted turned a glare on them as the goblin spoke up. "If you could please walk to the back of the line," he said, his tone bored, and his head still bent over some galleons in front of him that he was examining. "We'll get to you shortly."

"Do you really want me to tell your boss that you kept me waiting?" Hunter asked him coldly, his eyes narrowed.

Harry simply watched as the goblin rolled his eyes. "Look, you have to wait in line just like everyone-" he started to say, glancing up as he did. When he caught sight of who he was speaking to, he cut himself off as his eyes went wide. "Lord Peverell."

Hunter merely smiled; there was nothing pleasant about it.

The goblin cleared his throat. "I apologize, Lord Peverell. I did not know it was you," he said. He got up from his seat. "My name is Rannuk. If you and your companion would follow me, please."

"Hold on a moment!" the wizard that had been speaking with Rannuk spoke up. He scowled as the group of three as they began to walk away. "He can't just cut in front of all of us-"

"Cease your inane babbling," Rannuk snapped over his shoulder, causing the man to recoil. "There will be someone else along to help you with your frivolous endeavors in a moment."

The wizard flushed red in anger as Rannuk resumed leading Hunter and Harry away.

As the goblin led them towards a set of doors and away from where the way to the vaults was, Harry couldn't help but wonder how vital Hunter was for the goblin to show him even a little bit of respect.

He remembered Hagrid telling him that goblins were greedy and cunning but not the most friendly. That they don't like wizards because wizards look down on them for being inferior. So for Rannuk to show genuine respect towards Hunter, it spoke volumes. 'How come Rannuk respects him so much?' Harry wondered to himself. 'What is it that Hunter has done to earn that respect? Is it because of money? Fear? Dueling ability?'

"Here we are."

Rannuk's voice snapped Harry out of his musings, and he blinked at the set of doors they were standing in front of. They were away from the main room and were standing in one of the hallways that branched off from the main hall.

Rannuk opened the door and waved them inside. "This is Barlor's office. Go inside and have a seat, I shall send him along as soon as I can."

"Thank you," Hunter replied politely, his tone still cold but not as cutting as it was earlier when the goblin had dismissed them.

Rannuk bowed his head to them in acknowledgment before he made his exit.

As soon as the door shut, Harry rounded on Hunter. "Okay, what was that about?" he questioned. "How come we were able to pass all those people in the line? I thought goblins didn't like wizards, so why did Rannuk treat you with respect? And why are we here in the first place?"

Instead of getting offended as most people might have, Hunter merely chuckled at the barrage of questions. "People who have vast amounts of money and important items and allow the goblins to protect them earn their respect, however grudging it is," he replied. "The more money you have, and the more important an item is, the more respect you gain. The Peverell name is very prestigious. Even though most of us are gone, the House of Peverell holds a lot of weight with a lot of people, the goblins included."

Harry's eyes had widened considerably, the longer Hunter talked. "Wow," he said as soon the older man finished speaking. "So, the Peverell family is important and rich? Richer than the Malfoys?"

Hunter barked out a laugh. "We're way more wealthy than the Malfoys," he said in amusement. "Our family's history goes back farther than their's, too."

Harry thought of the expression Draco would wear if he ever found out about _that _particular fact. "Wicked," he responded, borrowing one of Ron's favorite phrases.

Hunter chuckled as if he knew where Harry's thoughts were. "I have some books that you could read if you're really interested in our history."

"Sure." Harry nodded, actually interested in History for once - at least its something interesting and not being taught by a ghost with a hypnotic, droning voice.

Before Hunter could say anything else, the doors opened once again, and a different goblin stepped through.

Hunter turned to welcome the newcomer. "Barlor," he greeted, his tone several degrees warmer than it was when he talked with Rannuk. "It is nice to see you again."

"Lord Peverell," the goblin, Barlor, replied with a toothy smile. He stepped further into the room, the doors shutting firmly behind him as he did. He went and sat in the chair situated behind the desk in the room before he gestured for Hunter and Harry to have a seat as well. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Hunter sat on the couch before the desk, a table in the space between it and the office. Harry timidly sat down in the area next to him. "It is not common knowledge as of yet, but Harry Potter has become by ward."

Barlor's eyes flitted to Harry quickly before resettling back on Hunter. "And what would you like me to do?"

Hunter leaned forward, his green eyes intent on the goblin in front of him. "There are certain individuals who won't take too kindly to knowing I am his guardian. I would like to take steps to make sure he is safe from them."

Harry remained quiet, his eyes focused on the conversation. 'This is why Hunter wanted to come?' he wondered to himself with a little awe.

Barlor also leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes. "Just say the word, Lord Peverell, and it shall be done."

Hunter smirked slightly. "I would like to officially recognize Harry as my heir."

Barlor grinned once more. "As you wish, Lord Peverell."

"Wait," Harry interjected, vastly confused. "Wait a minute; you want to make me your heir? Why?"

"Technically, you're already my heir," Hunter explained to the perplexed teen. "This is just to make it official. If it's official, then that means it'll be much harder for others to challenge my guardianship of you since it's recorded we're related by blood."

"Oh," Harry said. "So, this is just to make sure that I get to stay with you?"

Hunter nodded. "Amongst other things."

Barlor, noticing that the conversation was over, abruptly pulled out a drawer from his desk and rummaged inside for a bit before pulling out some papers. "These are standard documents for finalizing an heir that's above the age of two," Barlor said as he passed Hunter the papers. "It just needs both of your signatures and a drop of your blood."

"Blood?" Harry repeated a little horrified.

Hunter laid a hand on his shoulder, and the teen relaxed minutely. "Blood has traces of your magic signature," the older man told him reassuringly. "It helps prove that a signature hadn't been forged by someone else."

"Oh," Harry replied. A small part of his mind realized that he was saying that a lot.

"Are the two of you ready to get started?" Barlor asked them.

Harry glanced at Hunter, who nodded at him and gave an encouraging smile.

He smiled back.

"Ready."

(oooOOOooo)

Tonks sighed as she walked along Diagon Alley. It was her turn to be stationed there and had only arrived a few moments prior. She loved being an Auror, don't get her wrong. But this part of the job? Watching the same place for hours on end because someone they were looking for just _might _show up? So not exciting!

And what makes it worse, what she was doing wasn't even for the Ministry! It was off the books, a favor for Dumbledore. Apparently, Harry Potter has been kidnapped, so he wants Diagon Alley to be one of the places to be watched just in case he manages to escape his kidnapper.

Her Metamorphic abilities made her perfect for this kind of job, but it was still stripped of any type of excitement. She had to forgo her short, pink hair and purple eyes for long, unassuming brown hair and dark eyes.

As she said, nothing exciting.

She had just stopped to take another look around when she noticed the doors to Gringotts opening.

Now that in itself wasn't unusual - people come and go from there all the time - but Tonks turned her head to look anyway.

And immediately caught her breath.

There was Harry Potter himself, walking casually out of the Wizarding Bank with a massive grin on his face. Tonks didn't move, shock coursing through her body at the fact she just ran into him here.

She shook herself out of the trance her mind fell into and prepared to make her way over to him and take him away from here, maybe back to Grimmauld Place, when she saw a man step up next to him and place a hand on the teen's shoulder before leaning in to say something.

Tonks narrowed her eyes. 'That must be the man who kidnapped him,' she thought as she watched them converse with each other.

She saw Harry glance down and fiddle with something on one of his fingers before he looked back at the man and nod.

The mysterious male laid a hand on Harry's back and began leading him down the Alley. Tonk followed them at a distance, keeping to the shadows and close to the shops.

She watched in bewilderment as they entered Ollivanders.

"Harry already has a wand," she murmured to herself. "Why would he take him there?"

It wasn't long before they exited, and Tonks didn't see anything new on their person that suggested they bought something. Unless the man shrunk their purchase to hide it somewhere out of sight, of course.

The strange man then began leading Harry down Diagon Alley once again, a hand on the teen's back.

"Where is he taking you this time?" Tonk questioned out loud.

She got her answer only a few minutes later, surprisingly.

"Flourish and Blotts?" Tonks exclaimed quietly in surprise as she watched them go inside. "Why would he lead Harry there?"

A frown formed on her face as the Metamorphmagus made her way towards the store and quickly slipped inside. The place was filled with people, but not as crowded as it would be if students were there looking for school books.

Tonks glanced around and saw the strange man standing near the counter, conversing with the woman behind it.

But Harry wasn't with him.

'This is my chance to get Harry away from him,' Tonks realized suddenly.

After she made sure that the man was deep in his conversation with the woman, Tonks made her way deeper inside the store as she searched for the wayward teen. It took only a few minutes for her to find Harry, but unfortunately for her, he was way at the back of the store with no one else around.

He stood in front of one of the bookcases, an open book in one hand, his eyes skimming the pages while the thumb of his other hand toyed with a ring around his finger.

'This will make getting him out of here without that man noticing harder,' Tonks thought with discouragement as she walked up to him.

"Harry."

At the sound of her voice, he looked up and eyed her approach suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"You don't know me, but I'm an Auror," Tonks reassured him as she stopped in front of him. "My name is Tonks, and I work with Professor Dumbledore. Don't worry, I can get you out of here."

Harry continued to look at her with suspicion. "Why would you get me out of here?" he asked, a note of confusion is his otherwise skeptical tone.

Tonks was confused. "What?" she asked before she quickly glanced over her shoulder. "Nevermind, we don't have time. C'mon, we need to go before he notices."

Tonks reached out to grab Harry's arm, but he leaned away.

"What are you talking about?" Harry glared at her as he backed away. "Where are you trying to take me? And who is this 'he' that you're trying to avoid?"

Now Tonks was really confused. "I'm just trying to get you safe, you know, away from your kidnapper."

"My kidnapper?" Harry repeated with narrowed eyes. "I haven't been kidnapped!"

'That's right,' Tonks thought to herself. 'Professor Dumbledore said that Harry's kidnapper is pretending to be a long lost relative.'

She sighed. "Look, Harry, I know you think that man is family, but Professor Dumbledore said he's lying. He tricked and kidnapped you, plain and simple. Now we need to go."

Tonks reached out to grab his arm again, but Harry was faster. He dropped the book he had been looking at and whipped his wand out from nowhere to point in her face.

Tonks froze, surprised at how fast he moved.

"Look," the teen said heatedly, his nostrils flared with anger. "I appreciate you trying to keep me safe, but it isn't necessary. He didn't _kidnap _me, and he _is _a family member, despite what Dumbledore seems to think. So please, just leave me alone."

The Auror was shocked at the words that quickly fell from his lips. His wand didn't waver, the slight glower on his face didn't falter, and his green eyes were blazing.

'Oh, Merlin,' Tonks thought despairingly, 'he really believes what he's saying, doesn't he?'

She raised her hands slowly, trying to not startle the clearly angry young man with the wand pointed directly at her face. "Listen, Harry," she said, her voice soothing as she tried to seem nonthreatening. "Professor Dumbledore knows what he's talking about. I'm sorry that this person has lied to you, but-"

"What is going on here?"

The unfamiliar male voice cut Tonks off, and she spun around to face the newcomer, an excuse already on her lips but paused as she saw who it was.

Dread pooled in her stomach.

It was the man who kidnapped Harry.

His jet-black hair fell over his forehead but didn't entirely hide his green eyes. Those eyes, which had a darkened quality to them, brightened slightly as he looked behind Tonks at Harry. "Are you alright?" he asked, his tone soft.

Tonks didn't look away from the man in front of her, but she heard Harry let out a sigh. "I'm fine," he answered, his voice no longer agitated.

"It was all just a misunderstanding," Tonks interjected smoothly, her Auror persona coming to the forefront. She held out a hand. "I'm sorry for any trouble I caused Mister…"

'Maybe I can get a name,' she thought as she allowed her voice to trail off.

The man before her gave a smile that had too many teeth in it to fit comfortably in a human mouth while he gripped her hand forcefully. "Peverell," he said cooly. "Hunter Peverell."

Tonks narrowed her eyes as she returned his slightly painful handshake. 'Where have I heard that name before?' she thought to herself. 'It doesn't matter, I guess. There's no way for me to get Harry safely away without this man knowing. But now that we have a name, we might be able to track him down later.'

"Well, nice meeting you, Mister Peverell," Tonks said aloud, her tone almost sarcastically formal. She turned to Harry and noticed that he had his wand lowered but not put away. "I'll see you around, Harry," she added, trying to convey to him her double meaning.

Judging by the way a scowl formed on his face, he did. And he didn't like it.

Tonks quickly walked away before anyone else could say anything. As she walked emerged outside, she quickly made her way to her Apparition Point; her actions hurried.

'The Order needs to know about this,' she thought urgently.

(oooOOOooo)

Harry watched Tonks hurry away and turned to face Hunter. "Was it okay that you told her your name?" he asked worriedly.

As soon as they had exited Gringotts, Hunter immediately made it known to Harry that someone was watching them. He said to keep acting as casual as he could and to not make it evident that they saw the woman. They continued to go about their business, which included stopping at Ollivander's so Hunter could get the teen a wand holster before they stopped at Flourish and Blott's where the woman, now known as Tonks, ended up approaching them.

The man smiled. "It's fine," he reassured the teen. "We couldn't have kept the genie in the bottle forever. And remember, I told you that The Peverell name carries a lot of weight; once they know how important it is, it'll make them back off slightly and allow us to breathe."

"I don't think Dumbledore will back down," Harry pointed out.

Hunter's nostrils flared, the only sign that he was angered. "Yes," he answered, his tone cooled. "The old man is a persistent bugger, I'll give him that." He then grinned savagely. "Which will make it all the more satisfying to kick him off his high horse and right on his arse."

Harry grinned along with him.

"Now," the man said as he began leading him out of the store and back towards The Leaky Cauldron. "There's something else I need to do today, so you'll be going back to Peverell Cottage by yourself."

Harry looked at him in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"I need to go to The Ministry for something," was the evasive answer.

Harry saw the look in his eyes. "Is it going to make Dumbledore mad?" he asked with a grin.

Hunter smirked. "Of course it will," he said, his green eyes flashing.

"You'll tell me about it when you get back, right?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Of course I will," he responded immediately. "In case of the small, _slight _chance that what I'm planning doesn't work, I don't want to get your hopes up."

"Okay."

It wasn't long after their conversation that they arrived back at The Leaky Cauldron. When Harry stepped into the fireplace with a handful of Floo Powder, he glanced at Hunter one more time.

"Good luck," he said.

Hunter smiled. "I don't think I'll need it, but thanks for the sentiment all the same."

Harry smiled as well and threw the powder down, and shouted his destination before he was whisked away.

Back to Peverell Cottage, the one place besides Hogwarts that felt like home.


	9. Chapter 9

Neville entered his room and flopped onto his bed with a groan, his eyes falling shut.

His Gran had ‘conveniently’ forgotten to teach him about the Wizengamot, and what would be expected of him once he takes his place as Lord Longbottom, so they had been going over it since early that morning and had finished just a few minutes ago. It was now afternoon.

Augusta Longbottom was a grueling taskmaster, and very thorough. 

Very _ .  _ Thorough. 

Neville was just contemplating falling back into blissful sleep when the sound of persistent tapping broke through the haze of fog his mind had sunk into. Looking up, he was shocked to see a very familiar owl fluttering outside his window. 

“Hedwig?” he murmured before getting up to let the owl inside. As soon as the window opened, the white-feathered avian soared in, and landed on his desk, a letter attached to her leg.

“Oh! Harry must’ve written me back,” Neville realized.

He quickly untied the letter from Hedwig’s leg, rubbed her back in thanks, and watched her fly away after she nipped his fingers in affection.

Neville turned his attention to the letter in his hands, and hastily opened it to read its contents.

_ Dear Neville, _

_ You do not know how much getting your letter made me happy.  _

_ I’ve always known that you were my friend, Neville. And I am glad that you still think of me as one, too.  _

_ Thank you for trusting me. You’re right, the person I left with really is related to me - he’s a distant cousin on my dad’s side of the family. I cannot tell you more, just in case our letters get intercepted. Maybe we can meet in person soon and talk then. _

_ But we’re not talking about that right now. _

_ Neville, there’s something you need to know. You CANNOT trust Dumbledore. You CAN’T. He is NOT what he seems to be. Please, do not trust him. He is not a good person; he is, in fact, the direct opposite.  _

_ You said you trusted my judgment for going with my relative. Please trust me on this.  _

_ You’re more observant than most people give you credit for. You must have noticed Dumbledore’s weird fascination with me. You must have noticed how strange his actions have been ever since we started school. _

_ Stay safe. _

_ Your Friend, Harry Potter _

_ P.S Carpe Diem, right? _

As Neville read the letter, a frown developed on his face, which only deepened as he examined the rest of the message. However, a smile replaced the frown when he got to the end of Harry’s letter.

“Carpe Diem, huh,” he said aloud, his mind flashing back to when they first spoke these words to each other.

_ ~Flashback~ _

_ Neville sighed as he, unfortunately, walked along the corridor of Hogwarts by himself. Ever since Harry had spoken Parseltongue in front of most of the school at the Dueling Club, it was like the air surrounding the castle became oppressive with all the tension. _

_ No one wanted to go near Harry, not even the Gryffindors, except for Ron, Hermione, the Weasley Twins, Lee Jordan, and Neville himself. _

_ Personally, Neville thought the rest of the Gryffindors, and everyone else who shunned Harry, were idiots, not that he was confident enough to say it out loud. Not only did Harry hang out with Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born herself, but almost everyone in the school knew that Harry’s mother was a Muggle-born witch, which incidentally made Harry himself a Half-blood. _

_ Knowing those facts,  _ why  _ would Harry attack Muggle-borns, even if it turned out he was the Heir of Slytherin? _

_ Ridiculous. _

_ He was so far into his thoughts that he didn’t notice the other boy until he walked right into him. _

_ “Oomph!” _

_ Neville fell back and landed painfully on the ground. “Ow,” he groaned. _

_ “Sorry,” a familiar voice spoke up, its tone earnest and slightly timid. _

_ Neville glanced up in surprise. “Harry?” _

_ The messy-haired teen blinked in shock. “Neville?” _

_ Neville grabbed the hand he was offered and pulled himself up. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” _

_ “It’s okay,” Harry shrugged. He then added in a voice that conveyed his next words weren’t meant to be overheard. “At least you’re talking to me.” _

_ Neville couldn’t help the slight scowl that appeared on his face at those words. “I wonder if I can hex them all without them knowing it was me,” he muttered to himself.  _

_ Harry heard him, though, and he let out a snort of laughter. “Trust me; if there were a way, I would’ve done it by now.” _

_ The Longbottom Heir grinned a little. “If you do figure it out, can I tag along?” _

_ The green-eyed teen laughed, and the shadows in his eyes disappeared, if only for a moment.  _

_ It was silent for a moment as the two of them just stood there, the quiet peaceful instead of awkward. _

_ “Hey, Harry,” Neville began after a while, wanting to tell his friend this while the little bit of courage he felt was still thrumming through him. “You know...you know I think you’re innocent, right?” _

_ The other teen nodded before Neville finished speaking. “Of course I do,” he said without a hint of doubt. “You’re my friend.” _

_ Neville sighed. “Good. I-I just wanted you to know that. And when the rest of the school finds out too, they’ll be the ones feeling guilty.” _

_ Harry shrugged indifferently, but Neville could see the subtle tightening around his eyes and the small tension in his shoulders. “Everyone here will mostly flip flop between thinking I’m their savior and thinking I’m some new Dark Lord. I guess I should just focus on the now, huh?” _

_ “Carpe Diem,” Neville nodded absentmindedly in agreement.  _

_ Harry frowned in confusion. “‘Carpe Diem’?” he repeated.  _

_ “Yeah, it’s one of Gran’s favorite muggle phrases,” the blond teen explained. “She likes to say it a lot. It supposedly means ‘to enjoy life while you can.’” _

_ “Huh,” Harry uttered in contemplation. He then smiled. “I like it. Carpe Diem.” _

_ Neville smiled back. “Carpe Diem.” _

_ ~End Flashback~ _

Neville, reluctantly, shook himself out of the pleasant memory and turned his attention back to the letter in his hands. 

More specifically, the part of the letter that described Dumbledore. 

‘You must have noticed Dumbledore’s weird fascination with me,’ Harry had written. ‘You must have noticed how weird his actions have been ever since we started school.’

And in truth, Neville  _ had _ noticed those things. Since he didn’t like to speak up much to contribute to any conversation because of his lack of confidence, he did pay close attention to the people and situations around him, which meant that he noticed the Headmaster’s odd fascination with his friend. 

He had believed that it was because his friend also happened to be ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived,’ and that Professor Dumbledore, much like everyone else, was curious about the one who defeated You-Know-Who. 

But after reading Harry’s letter and thinking back on things from that perspective, Neville had begun to realize that what his friend had written was right. Over the years, whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Neville had noticed the Headmaster observe Harry almost always.

“But why, though?” Neville thought aloud. “Why watch him so closely?”

Another part of the letter’s contents flashed in his mind almost as soon as he finished the thought.

‘You CANNOT trust Dumbledore. You CAN’T. He is NOT what he seems to be. Please, do not trust him. He is not a good person; he is, in fact, the direct opposite.’

Neville then remembered a passage from the letter Hermione had written before he wrote to Harry.

‘Professor Dumbledore said that Harry doesn't have any more relatives.’

“Why is Professor Dumbledore so interested in Harry?” the Longbottom Heir wondered to himself. “And Harry had urged in his letter not to trust him. What could Professor Dumbledore have done to make Harry so suspicious of him?” 

He had many questions swirling around in his head, but before he could make sense of any of them, a knock sounded on his door.

“Neville?”

His Gran’s voice echoed on the other side of the door. Thinking fast, he grabbed his wand and, with a quickly muttered ‘Incendio,’ burned the letter before he called out the okay for her to come in.

Augusta Longbottom entered without fanfare, her stature even more towering to Neville seated at his desk. Her face was set in its usual severe expression though her eyes were soft as she looked at him. She wore her customary witches hat with the stuffed vulture on it.

“Neville,” she said as she came to a stop in front of him. “I came to give you this.” She held out an old leather-bound journal to him, which he took tentatively. 

“What is it?” he asked as he began to scan through it delicately.

There was a slight pause that had Neville looking up.

Augusta cleared her throat. “It was my dear Elijah’s Journal,” she answered, and Neville was startled as he realized he was holding his  _ grandfather’s  _ journal. “He used to write in it all the time when he was Lord Longbottom and sitting on the Longbottom Seat of the Wizengamot. I thought that you might find this useful.”

Neville gazed at his Gran with unconcealed gratitude. It wasn’t uncommon for him to receive family heirlooms from his Gran, his wand was his father’s after all, but this was extra special. Not to mention very helpful.

“Thank you, Gran,” the teen said softly.

Augusta sniffed. “I hope the journal helps you with your Wizengamot studies. You’ll need to know your way around the workings of being a member for when it’s time for me to step down as Regent Longbottom and allow you to take your seat. Especially if things will continue to be as hectic as they are now.”

Neville looked up from his study of his grandfather’s journal. “Hectic?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

Madam Longbottom clasped her hands in front of her, her posture prim and proper. “Albus had been removed as Chief Warlock. Now that he’s gone, Minister Fudge is presiding over the Wizengamot, and that man could barely control his extremities, let alone fifty other people.”

The Longbottom Heir’s eyes widened in response. “Professor Dumbledore was Chief Warlock?”

“Yes.”

“Um…”Neville trailed off, trying to find a way to phrase his question. His grandmother was a very observant person. Surely she would have noticed if there was something...off, for lack of a better word, about Dumbledore. Maybe something similar to what Harry might have seen.

“Neville?” His grandmother called out sharply when he didn’t immediately respond.

“Was...was Professor Dumbledore a...a good Chief Warlock?” Neville asked, his voice hesitant.

Augusta frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Neville looked down at his knees, unable to keep looking at his grandmother in the eyes. “I-I was just wondering i-if he made g-good judgments.” 

“Ah, I see.” Neville glanced up once more when he heard no scorn or judgment in his Gran’s voice. “I suppose he was a good Chief Warlock, not too terrible. Though at times, I did not care for his attitude.”

Neville blinked in surprise. “His attitude?”

Augusta pursed her lips. “Whenever Albus had felt that a certain action was the appropriate way to go about something, he would grasp onto it like a Niffler after treasure, and wouldn’t consider any other option. As Chief, he was supposed to consider everything before deciding on a particular action.”

“Oh.” Neville didn’t know what more he could say after that.

His Gran cleared her throat. “Well, if that is all, I will be taking my leave then. Lunch will be served soon. I shall see you later.”

Neville nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Thanks again for Grandfather’s journal, Gran.”

Augusta merely nodded before turning around and left his room, closing the door after she stepped out.

Neville’s thoughts turned inward. ‘So Professor Dumbledore can be stubborn about what he views as the right course of action,’ he thought. ‘Can that be part of the reason Harry doesn’t trust him?’

The blonde teen let out a sigh before he slumped in his chair.

‘Why must you always be in the middle of a mystery, Harry?’ Neville thought with fond exasperation.

(oooOOOooo) 

Amelia Bones fought to keep herself together as she left another meeting with The Minister with a pounding headache. The man was so clearly incompetent that it baffled her as to how he got any votes to become Minister of Magic.

If there were a time where he contributed something useful to the magical community, Amelia would be surprised.

The way he handled and continued to address Potter’s and Dumbledore’s allegations about You-Know-Who’s supposed return was utterly ridiculous. She would love nothing more than to believe that Potter’s claim of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return was untrue, but she was a woman of the law, which meant that every side must be heard. The Headmaster had the person who placed Potter’s name in the goblet for the Triwizard Tournament. He had the man in his custody, ready to be questioned and possibly confirm Potter’s story.

But because of Fudge’s incompetence, they will never know what the man, an escaped prisoner of Azkaban, had to say. The complete  _ idiot _ had marched in with a Dementor and had the escapee Kissed without a trial. All because he was afraid and believed the stories Rita Skeeter had printed in The Prophet about Potter to be fact.

“That blubbering, floundering, idiotic, pathetic,  _ coward _ ,” Amelia grumbled under her breath as she stalked back towards the lift. “No matter their personal beliefs, the Minister of Magic’s duty is to their people, which means casting aside their individual opinions and adhere to the law. But that  _ man _ seems more concerned with  _ image  _ and  _ prestige  _ than he does about the welfare of Magical Britain!”

As she got into the lift, the wizards and witches already on backed as far away as they could. They could sense the rage that the DMLE Head was trying to reign in, which terrified them. However, Amelia didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in her dark thoughts.

She got off on Level Two when the lift stopped and began to walk down the hallway towards her office, still angry from talking with Minister Fudge. She was halfway there when she was yanked out of her bitter musings at the shout of her name.

“Madam Bones!”

Amelia’s brow raised in surprise as she observed her assistant hurrying towards her. “Emily,” she said, her tone one of shock. “What is it that has you running through the halls?”

“Terribly sorry, Madam,” Amelia’s assistant, Emily, answered slightly out of breath as she stopped in front of her boss. “There is a man here that is waiting to see you. He says it’s important.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, and she quickened her step. “What is his name?”

Emily, whose face was flushed from bustling down the hall, hurried after her. “He said his name is Hunter Peverell.”

“Peverell?” Amelia muttered. She recognized that name, although she doesn’t remember from where. “Did he say why he was here?”

“No,” Emily shook her head, “he said that he needed to speak with you and that was all.”

“Hm.” Amelia picked up the pace, leaving her assistant to follow relatively quickly. Soon enough, they arrived outside her office. “Thank you for letting me know, Emily. Return to your work. I’ll send for you if I need you.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Emily went back to her desk while Amelia moved towards her office and promptly went inside. As she stepped in, a young man sitting in the chair situated in front of her desk immediately stood and turned.

Amelia immediately noticed his vibrant, green eyes, black hair that fell to the tops of his shoulders and over his forehead, and polite smile. 

“Madam Bones,” the young man said pleasantly. “My apologies for showing up unannounced.” He held out his hand. “I am Hunter Peverell.”

Amelia shook his hand, not showing her suspicion for the young man’s sudden appearance. “Mister Peverell,” she said in greeting. 

His smile widened a little into something more sincere. “Please, call me Hunter.”

Amelia’s lips twitched in amusement almost involuntarily. “If you insist.” She gestured for him to take a seat before sitting herself behind her desk. “Now, what can I help you with?”

The young man, Hunter, became more serious. “It is not common knowledge yet, but I've become the guardian of Harry Potter.”

Amelia was shocked at that - mainly because she was present when Dumbledore insisted on placing Potter with his muggles relatives for his protection - but she hid her shock. “I see.”

“I am aware that Harry still has a godfather out there,” Hunter continued, “one that was found guilty of betraying Harry’s parents to Voldemort” - he ignored her flinch - “and killing Peter Pettigrew. I was wondering if I can read the transcripts for his trial so I can be made aware of the facts and not just listen to gossip and rumors.”

Amelia was grudgingly impressed. “I see,” she repeated. “Well, usually trials of the magnitude like Sirius Black’s aren't public record. However, considering the relationship between Black and young Mister Potter, and the fact that you are now his guardian, I can get you a copy.”

“That would be appreciated.”

The gray-haired woman pulled out her wand and tapped one of the decorations on her desk. A moment later, her assistant walked through the door. “Emily,” Amelia greeted her. “Would you please fetch me a copy of the transcripts for Sirius Black’s trial?”

“Of course, Madam,” the woman mentioned above nodded, before quickly exiting.

Amelia turned to her guest. “Would you like some tea while we wait?”

“If it is not too much trouble,” the young man nodded. “Thank you.”

“Ally,” Amelia called out.

A house-elf popped into the room. “Mistress called for Ally?” the house-elf questioned.

“Would you please bring some tea for my guest and me?” Amelia asked her house-elf.

The house-elf nodded. “Yes, Ally will be doing that for Mistress,” she said, before popping away. Hardly a minute later, Ally returned with a tray of tea with an added pot of sugar.

“Now,” Amelia said as she passed Hunter a cup before grabbing the other for herself. “While we wait for Emily to get back, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

The young man’s green eyes flashed, although his face didn’t so much as twitch. “I don’t mind,” he answered mildly before he sipped his tea.

Amelia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How is young Harry doing?” she inquired.

“Well, actually,” Hunter replied immediately. “He’s happy to be away from his relatives as well.”

“‘Happy to be away from his relatives’?” Amelia repeated, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by that?” 

Hunter frowned at her. “Madam Bones, Harry’s relatives were cruel people who treated him like a house-elf just because he has magic. In Harry’s words, they wanted to ‘crush the freakishness’ out of him.”

The Head of The DMLE felt herself go pale. “‘Crush the freakishness out of him’?” she repeated, her voice small and horrified.

Before Hunter could respond, there was a knock on the door. “Madam Bones?” came the shaky voice of her assistant.

Amelia mentally shook her head and tried to compose herself. “Come in, Emily,” she said, her voice only somewhat shaky.

The door opened, and Emily walked in. Empty-handed.

“Emily?” the older woman questioned. “Where are Black’s court transcripts?”

The young woman wouldn’t meet her boss’s eyes. “T-Terribly sorry, Madam,” she responded timidly. “But...but there are no court transcripts for Sirius Black.”

“ _ What _ ?”

Emily shrank back a bit. “I checked the archives, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. I then checked the transcripts for all court trials that occurred in October and November of 1981. None of them dealt with Sirius Black.”

Amelia felt faint. “Are you telling me,” she said with a wavering voice, “that Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban without a trial?”

If possible, Emily shrank back even more. “It...it would appear so, Madam.”

The Elder Bones looked over at Hunter Peverell and saw the satisfied gleam in his emerald eyes. “You knew,” she breathed out.

The young man nodded with a sharp smirk before he took a sip of his tea. “Of course I did,” he replied when he finished. “Harry told me about his third year at Hogwarts when Black was there. He even let me view his memories of the events to make sure I believed him.”

The green-eyed man set his teacup down before reaching into his pocket and took out a vial filled with silvery fluid. “These are Harry’s memories of what occurred during his third year with Black. I’m sure it will be more than adequate to get him a trial.”

Amelia took the vial from him, her motions stiff. Her thoughts were on the fact that the Ministry let Sirius Black rot in Azkaban for twelve years  _ without a trial _ .

Hunter’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “If you don’t mind, Madam Bones,” he said as he stood from his seat. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Of...of course,” Amelia answered, her voice unsteady.

The young man nodded his head at her before he turned to make his way out of her office. “Oh, and by the way,” Hunter paused in the doorway to look over his shoulder at Amelia. “I do hope you’ll try and get Sirius Black the trial that was denied him all those years ago, Head of The DMLE. I can’t imagine what it will do to The Ministry’s reputation if it gets out that they continuously deny the Heir of House Black a fair trial.”

The older woman swallowed heavily as Hunter’s green eyes flashed, even though his face didn’t change from its neutral expression. She was well-versed in politics to hear his subtle warning. “I understand.”

Hunter’s eyes went back to being pleasant, and he smiled. “Good.” He left the office, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.

Amelia stared at the closed door for what felt like hours as she tried to regulate her breathing. 

“Madam Bones?” 

The forenamed woman turned her head to gaze at her assistant, who hadn't left since she walked in and gave the devastating news. “Are you alright?”

Amelia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes,” she said. “You may leave me now, Emily.”

“If you’re sure, Madam,” she responded. When Amelia gave her a nod, she gave one of her own and left the office.

Amelia sat back slowly in her chair as she went over the conversation in her head. ‘How did Black not receive a trial,’ she thought to herself with horror. ‘Did anyone else get thrown in Azkaban without a trial?’

With her jaw set, Amelia got out of her seat and began to bring out her pensieve.

‘Black deserves a trial, whether he is innocent or guilty. If Hunter was telling the truth, then Potter’s memories are important pieces of evidence.’

(oooOOOooo) 

Hunter strolled through the long hallway, away from Amelia’s office and back towards the lift. He hated speaking that way to the woman, mainly since he respects her for being one of the few people in The Ministry who wasn’t corrupt.

But he had to get his point across, and he did mean what he said. If The Ministry does not give Sirius a trial, he will leak this to Rita Skeeter herself to sensationalize. Despite how he hurt Harry in the past, he didn’t deserve to be kept as a prisoner in his own home, unable to go anywhere.

“Besides,” Hunter murmured to himself as he stepped into the empty lift. “Freeing Sirius would mean a chance for him to not rely on the coot so much, which means one less pawn for him to move about the board.”

Hunter then smirked to himself as his hand reached inside his pocket and pulled something out. “Plus,” he drawled inside the empty lift as it began moving again. “Sirius won’t be the only thing he loses control over.”

The prophecy made about Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort all those years ago sat comfortably in the palm of his hand. It was laughingly easy to get past the Order member guarding the hall of prophecies under an invisibility cloak, using just a Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not charm.

Hunter’s smirk became more shark-like as he stared at the small orb that caused so many problems.

“Your move, Albus.”

_ (oooOOOooo) _

_ ~Earlier that day~ _

Molly was tense as she wrung her hands while she watched everyone gathered inside Grimmauld Place. She and her husband and kids plus Hermione were eating breakfast when Tonks’ patronus had burst into the room with an urgent message to gather the Order members for an emergency meeting.

So, naturally, she shooed her children and Hermione out of the room, before going to the attic to fetch Sirius and tell him about the emergency meeting. Molly, Arthur, and Sirius had then waited with bated breath and rattled nerves for everyone else to show up.

It had been almost half an hour since Tonks had sent her patronus message, and so far, only Professor Dumbledore was missing. 

Tonks had refused to tell anyone anything about why she called the meeting and stated when Alastor Moody demanded why that she won’t say a word until Professor Dumbledore got there.

The room’s tension was palpable, as most people were exhibiting a nervous tick like Molly was. All except Severus, who stood brooding in the corner, his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face. Tonks herself had not sat down since she got there, choosing instead to pace the room’s length.

When it looked like Alastor was about to question Tonks again, this time more angrily, the fireplace flared and out stepped Albus Dumbledore.

“Professor!” Tonks exclaimed in relief, her hair turning into a bright blue bob.

Moody huffed. “About time,” he growled.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Are you finally going to tell us why you wasted all of our time on this? Some of us have actual important work to be doing,” he sniped at the  M etamorphmagus .

Minerva McGonagall and a few others frowned at his tone of voice, but no one disagreed. 

Albus held up a placating hand. “No need for the tone Severus,” he said, with his tone easygoing and twinkling blue eyes. He then turned to Tonks. “Now, my dear, why don’t you explain to all of us why you called everyone here.”

Tonks gave a short nod before straightening her spine. “Of course Professor,” she said resolutely. “I was watching Diagon Alley as you asked me to. About forty-five minutes ago, I saw Harry and his kidnapper exit from Gringotts.”

That razored everyone’s focus. Albus lost the twinkle in his eyes and leaned forward eagerly.

“Is he okay?” Sirius demanded a second before Molly was about to, almost straining out of his seat. Remus pulled him back. “Well?”

“He seemed fine, physically,” Tonks admitted. “I tailed them to a couple of stores before I was able to get Harry alone in Flourish and Blott’s.”

“Then why didn’t you get him out of there?” Sirius asked furiously. “How could you just leave him like that!”

“That’s enough, Sirius,” Albus thundered, silencing the Animagus. “There must be a reason why she wasn’t able to extract Mister Potter.”

“There is,” Tonks interjected. “Professor Dumbledore, you were right. The man who took Harry had convinced him that he’s a relative of his.”

“A man?” Molly spoke up. “This person is for sure a male then?”

Tonks nodded. “Yes. While I stood trying to convince Harry to leave with me, he was capable enough to sneak up behind me without my noticing it. There was no way after that that I could leave with Harry. Not without him stopping me.”

“Were you able to get his name?” Albus asked almost anxiously.

“I did. He said his name is Hunter Peverell.”

Molly noticed Albus pale almost drastically.

“Peverell,” Minerva muttered to herself. “Where have I heard that name before?”

“They were an ancient, powerful wizarding family,” the answer came from, surprisingly, Sirius. “The Potters are descended from them.” When he noticed the astonished stares directed his way, he added grudgingly, “James used to tell us all the time.”

“So wait,” Remus frowned. “Does that mean that this man is Harry’s relative?”

“No,” Albus asserted strongly. “I checked for any remaining members of Mister Potter’s before placing him with his mother’s sister and her family, and there were none. It is too convenient that this man shows up right after Voldemort was resurrected and trying to get followers.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “There have been no new Death Eaters or supporters by the name of Hunter Peverell.”

Albus shook his head. “This man may as well had given a false name. No, the man calling himself Hunter Peverell is dangerous. Tonks, I would like you to keep watching Diagon Alley just in case they show up again. Severus, I would like for you to check it out as well. Maybe this man left behind something we can trace.”

“Understood,” Tonks nodded while Severus merely scowled.

Minerva leaned forward with a frown. “What did he look like?” she asked. “If he did indeed give a false name, what should we be on the lookout for?”

“Green eyes and black hair that falls to his shoulders and little over his forehead,” Tonks told her. “Only a little taller than Sirius, but not by much.”

“Understood.”

Molly bit her lip as she watched the various Order members begin moving out, with Professor Dumbledore being the first to go through the fireplace and Tonks and Alastor going towards the front door.

‘The way Tonks described how this Hunter Peverell person looks like sounds as if he really could be related to Harry,” Molly thought in worry. ‘But is his appearance real, or a disguise?’

Unbeknownst to her or any of the others, in their haste to get the meeting started to see what Tonks had to say, they neglected to put up the wards to prevent someone from eavesdropping.

And no one noticed the end of a flesh-colored piece of string that retreated up the stairs where the other end was in the hands of the hidden Weasleys twins.

(oooOOOooo)

When Albus stepped back into his office at Hogwarts, the panic he had hidden in Grimmauld Place made a brief appearance as he began to pace.

“Peverell?” he muttered to himself. “Impossible! Their line ended a long time ago. The Potter brat and Tom Riddle are their only descendants, I checked myself. Who is this man, then? How could he have taken young Harry without me noticing? What is his angle?”

The portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses watched Dumbledore pace with grim looks on their faces.

Phineas Black was the only one who showed any amount of glee as he watched the current Headmaster pace and mumble to himself.

“And why is the brat going along with this man?” Albus stated in frustration. “I’ve made sure that the only adults he could trust were myself and those who trust me. If Tonks’ report is correct, why in Merlin’s name is the boy so trusting of that man?”

As Dumbledore paced, lost in his thoughts and anger, he failed to realize that one of his knickknacks was flashing. It was the one linked to the Prophecy, and the flashing meant that it was gone.

He didn’t know now, but when he calmed down enough to notice his device flashing, his anger would be enough for his office’s windows to shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write the scene at the Ministry with Hunter since the beginning, so I'm glad that I was finally able to!
> 
> More chapters coming up!


End file.
